• 


JUDGE   ELBRIDGE 


1  ■) 
J  5  J  I 
3  3  a  J 


He  threw  a  piece  of  silver  upon  the  banner  of  the  Salvationists  -Page  iSo. 


Judge  Elbridge 


BY 


OPIE  READ 


AUTHOR   OF 


"An  Arkansas  Planter,"  "The  Waters 

OF  Caney  Fork,"  "A  Yankee 

from  the  West,"  Etc. 


¥ 


■  o         >         • 


Chicago  and  New  York: 
RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 

MDCCCXCIX. 


^^.H 


^^l^ 
f^^ 


Copyright,  1899,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co. 


•  *  •         « 

•     i 


^5  -> 

5      )        t   -> 


JUDGE  ELBRIDGE 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR. 

When  John  Elbridge  retired  from  the  bench,  the 
newspapers  said  that  he  had  been  an  honorable 
judge.  He  was  not  a  pioneer,  but  had  come  to 
Chicago  at  a  time  which  we  now  call  an  early  day, 
when  churches  rang  their  bells  where  now  there  is 
a  jungle  of  trade,  when  the  legs  of  the  Giant  of  the 
West  were  in  the  ache  of  "growing  pains ;"  at  a 
time  when  none  but  the  most  visionary  dreamed 
that  a  mud-hole  full  of  old  boots,  dead  rats,  cats, 
dogs,  could  ever  be  worth  a  million  of  dollars.  El- 
bridge came  from  Maryland,  with  a  scant  ward- 
robe, a  lawyer's  diploma,  and  the  confident  ambi- 
tion of  youth.  It  was  not  long  before  he  formed  a 
copartnership  with  a  young  man  named  Bodney,  a 


6  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Kentuckian,  in  whose  mind  still  lived  the  chimes  of 
Henry  Clay's  bells — a  memory  that  not  so  much 
fitted  him  to  the  law  as  it  atuned  him  to  oratory ; 
but  in  those  days  the  bar  could  be  eloquent  with- 
out inviting  the  pitying  smile  which  means,  '*Oh, 
yes,  it  sounds  all  right,  but  it's  crude."  Elbridge 
was  the  student  of  the  firm,  and  Bodney  the  orator, 
not  a  bad  combination  in  the  law  at  that  time,  for 
what  one  did  not  know  the  other  was  prepared  to 
assert.  They  prospered  in  a  way,  but  never  had  the 
forethought  to  invest  in  the  ma^ic  mud-hole ;  took 
wives  unto  themselves,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
"orator,"  settled  down  to  dull  and  uneventful  hon- 
esty. The  years,  like  racing  horses,  flew  round  and 
round  the  track,  and  a  palace  of  trade  grew  out  of 
the  mud-hole.  Bodney  and  his  wife  passed  away, 
leaving  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  Elbridge  had 
stood  at  the  bedside  of  his  partner,  who  was  fol- 
lowing his  wife  into  the  eternal  shadow.  "Don't 
worry  about  the  children,  Dan ;  they  are  mine," 
said  the  "student,"  and  the  "orator"  passed  away  in 
peace.  And  they  were  his.  He  took  them  to  his 
home  to  be  brother  and  sister  to  his  son ;  and  the 
years  raced  round  and  round  the  track. 

At  the  time  of  his  retirement  from  the  bench  the 
Judge  was  asked  why  he  refused  longer  to  serve  the 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.  7 

people.  "Because,"  said  he,  ''T  am  beginning  to  be 
afraid  of  my  judgment ;  I  am  becoming  too  careful 
— like  the  old  engineer  who  can't  summon  the  nerve 
to  bring  his  train  in  on  time." 

I\Irs.  Elbridge  had  been  known  as  a  local 
"beauty.''  It  was  said  that  the  "orator"  had  rung 
his  Henry  Clay  bells  for  her  hand,  and  with  philos- 
ophy, a  rare  quality  among  orators,  had  accepted 
defeat,  to  spur  himself  into  another  contest  and  to 
win  a  woman  not  unknown  to  "looks."  Rachel 
Fry,  afterward  Mrs.  Elbridge,  had  written  verses 
to  sky  tints  and  lake  hues,  and  the  "student"  be- 
lieved that  he  had  won  her  with  a  volume  of  Keats, 
bound  in  blue,  the  color  of  one  of  her  ovv-n  lake 
odes.  And  in  the  reminiscent  humor  of  his  older 
days  he  was  wont  to  laugh  over  it  until  he  himself 
was  shot  through  with  a  metric  thrill,  when  in 
measure  he  strove  to  recall  the  past;  and  then  she 
had  the  laugh  on  him.  It  may  be  a  mere  notion,  but 
it  seems  that  the  young  doctor  and  the  old  lawyer 
are  much  inclined  to  write  verses,  for  among  the 
papers  of  many  an  aged  jurist  sonnets  are  found, 
and  editors  are  well  acquainted  with  the  beguiling 
smile  of  the  young  physician.  So  the  "pink  fleece 
of  the  cloud-sheep,"  and  the  "blue,  mysterious  soul 
of  the  lake,"  inspirations  of  the  "beauty's"  earlier 


8  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

years,  found  sympathy  in  the  "student's"  "mellow 
morning  of  sunlit  hope,"  penned  in  the  late  after- 
noon of  life.  But  verses,  be  they  ever  so  bad,  are 
the  marks  of  refinement,  and  there  was  no  vulgar 
streak  in  the  mind  of  the  Judge.  His  weakness, 
and  he  possessed  more  than  one,  was  the  dogged- 
ness  with  which  he  held  to  a  conviction.  His  mind 
was  not  at  all  times  clear;  a  neighbor  said  that  he 
often  found  himself  in  a  cloud  of  dust  that  arose 
from  ancient  law  books ;  and  it  is  a  fact  that  an  able 
judge  is  sometimes  a  man  of  strong  prejudices.  At 
the  time  of  this  narration  he  was  still  hale,  good 
humored,  a  little  given  to  the  pedantry  of  advanc- 
ing years,  devoted  to  his  family,  impressive  in  man- 
ner, with  his  high  forehead  and  thin  gray  hair ;  firm 
of  step,  heavy  in  the  shoulders,  not  much  above  me- 
dium height,  cleanly  shaven,  with  full  lips  slightly 
pouting.  Following  his  own  idea  of  comfort,  he 
had  planned  his  house,  a  large  brick  building  in 
Indiana  Avenue,  at  first  far  out,  but  now  within 
easy  reach  of  the  area  where  the  city's  pile-driving 
heart  beats  with  increasing  violence.  It  was  a 
happy  household.  The  son,  Howard,  was  a  manly 
fellow,  studious  but  wide  awake,  and  upon  him  the 
old  man  rested  a  precious  hope.  The  mother  was  a 
blonde,  and  nature  had  given  her  cast  to  the  boy, 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.  9 

blue  eyes  and  yellowish  hair ;  and  it  was  said  that  if 
he  had  a  vanity  it  lay  in  his  bronze  beard,  which  he 
kept  neatl}'  trimmed — and  it  had  come  early,  this 
mark  of  the  matured  man.  His  foster  brother, 
George  Bodney,  was  dark,  inclined  to  restlessness, 
over-impressionable,  nervous.  The  old  man  had 
another  precious  hope — Florence,  Bodney's  sister; 
but  of  this  he  shall  tell  in  his  own  words.  A 
stranger  might  not  have  seen  anything  striking 
about  the  girl ;  but  all  acquaintances  thought  her 
handsome.  At  school  she  had  been  called  a  ''char- 
acter," not  that  she  was  original  to  the  degree  of 
being  "queer,"  but  because  she  acted  in  a  manner 
prematurely  old,  discussing  serious  questions  with 
her  teachers,  debating  the  problems  of  life.  Her 
hobby  was  honor,  a  virtue  which  a  cynic  has  de- 
clared is  more  often  found  among  boys  than  among 
girls.  She  liked  to  read  of  martyrs,  not  that  there 
was  heaven  in  their  faith,  but  because  she  thought 
it  glorious  to  suffer  and  to  die  for  a  principle,  no 
matter  what  that  principle  miight  happen  to  be. 

There  was  one  other  member  of  the  family,  Wil- 
liam, the  Judge's  brother.  He  looked  like  a  carica- 
ture of  the  "student,"  with  thinner  hair  and  thicker 
lips.  He  had  not  given  his  energies  to  any  one 
calling ;  shiftless  is  the  word  best  fitted  to  set  him 


10  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

forth.  He  had  Hved  in  different  parts  of  the  far 
West,  had  been  dissatisfied  with  all  places  because 
a  failure  in  all,  and  had  come  to  spend  the  remainder 
of  his  days  with  his  brother  in  Chicago.  Here,  he 
declared,  a  man  could  not  find  disappointment,  for 
no  man  of  sense  expected  anything  but  permission 
to  breathe  and  to  keep  out  of  the  way.  Friends 
knew  that  he  was  the  Judge's  standing  joke,  a 
family  laughing  stock,  a  humorous  burden,  a  neces- 
sary idleness.  Of  course,  it  was  natural  for  him  to 
feel  that  he  owned  the  place. 

Howard  and  George  Bodney  were  bred  to  the 
law,  and  recently  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar.  The 
"starvation  period"  of  the  average  young  lawyer  did 
not  arise  out  of  dull  prospect  to  confront  them  ;  they 
were  to  make  their  way,  it  was  true,  but  they  could 
study  and  wait.  Howard  was  ambitious,  and  his 
mind  was  grasping.  It  was  said  that  he  "gulped" 
a  book.  He  did  not  stop  at  the  stern  texts  which 
were  to  serve  as  a  part  of  his  necessary  equipment, 
but  gave  himself  excursions  among  those  graces  of 
half-idle  minds  which  light  a  torch  for  souls  that 
may  be  greater.  He  peeped  into  the  odd  corners  of 
thought.  Once  he  startled  his  father  by  declaring 
that  genius  was  the  unconscious  wisdom  of  igno- 
rance. 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.  11 

"It  is  the  reflection  of  hard  work,"  said  the  old 
man.  The  boy  was  the  corner-stone  of  his  hope ; 
he  wanted  to  feel  that  his  work  was  to  go  on,  gen- 
eration after  generation,  a  pardonable  vanity,  but 
a  vanity  nevertheless.  He  wanted  the  boy  to  be 
practical,  for  a  speculative  youth  is  not  a  good  per- 
petuator  of  a  father's  career.  And  on  one  occasion 
the  boy  was  taken  gently  to  task  for  reading  a  de- 
cadent book. 

"I  like  to  brush  up  against  different  minds,"  said 
he. 

'"But  nothing  is  gained  by  brushing  against  a 
diseased  mind." 

"\\'e  might  learn  something  from  a  mad  dog." 

"But  all  of  value  that  we  may  learn  from  him," 
said  the  old  man,  '*is  to  keep  out  of  his  way.  I 
must  request  you  not  to  read  such  books." 

Bodnev  had  not  distinguished  himself.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  restless  and  dissatisfied  with  himself 
and  with  his  prospects.  He  thought  that  the  lav/ 
afforded  but  a  slow  and  tedious  way  to  make  money, 
and  deplored  the  shortsightedness  of  his  father  and 
his  benefactor  for  not  having  invested  in  the  mud- 
hole.  Nervousness  may  inspire  force  of  character, 
but  it  more  often  induces  weakness.  In  many  re- 
spects  Bodney   was   weak.      But  the   Judge,   who 


12        ,  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

should  nave  been  a  shrewd  observer  of  men  as  well 
as  of  principles,  did  not  see  it.  In  the  "youth  of 
old  age,"  a  man  who,  in  his  younger  days,  may  have 
been  keenly  of  the  world,  sometimes  turns  upon 
life  the  goggle  eye  of  optimism. 

After  his  retirement  from  the  bench  and  the  more 
active  affairs  of  the  law,  the  Judge  fitted  up  an  office 
at  his  home,  with  desks,  long  table  covered  with 
green  baize,  books  and  safe. 

One  evening  Bodney  sat  alone  in  the  home  office, 
deeply  brooding.  The  household  was  at  dinner, 
and  he  heard  the  hearty  laughter  of  the  Judge.  He 
was  joking  with  a  guest,  a  preacher,  a  good  fellow. 
The  young  man's  brow  was  dark.  Of  late  he  had 
formed  an  association  with  a  man  named  Goyle, 
clearly  an  adventurer,  but  a  man  to  inflame  the 
fancy  of  a  morbid  nature.  Bodney  and  Goyle  had 
been  much  together,  at  the  house  and  at  the  office 
down  town,  but  no  one  made  any  objection.  Per- 
sonal freedom  was  a  hobby  with  the  Judge. 

There  were  two  doors  leading  into  the  office,  one 
opening  into  a  hall,  the  other  into  a  passageway 
communicating  directly  with  the  street.  Through 
the  door  opening  into  the  passage  Goyle  entered. 
He  carried  a  valise  in  his  hand.    Bodney  looked  up. 

''Halloa,  Goyle,"  said  he.    "Come  in." 


"  Halloa,  Goyle,"  said  he.     "  Come  in. 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.  13 

"That's  what  I'm  doing,"  Goyle  repHed,  putting 
down  the  vaHse  near  the  door  and  advancing  to- 
ward the  desk  at  which  Bodney  was  seated. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Bodney. 

"That's  what  Fm  going  to  do,"  Goyle  repHed. 

He  sat  down,  and  for  a  time  both  were  silent. 
"Where's  everybody?"  Goyle  asked. 

The  bass  laughter  of  the  Judge  and  the  contralto 
of  a  woman's  mirth  were  heard. 

"At  dinner,"  said  Bodney,  nodding  toward  the 
dining  room. 

"Don't  you  eat?" 

"Sometimes,"  Bodney  answered,  and  then  after 
a  short  silence  he  asked:    "Did  you  get  my  note?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"I  think  you're  scared,"  said  Goyle. 

Bodney  gave  him  a  quick  look.  "Who  wouldn't 
be?" 

"I  wouldn't." 

"Yes,  you  would.  It's  this  way,  and  there's  no 
other  way  to  it:  The  old  man  has  missed  money 
from  the  safe.  He  hasn't  said  so,  but  I  can  tell  by 
the  way  he  acts." 

Goyle  smiled.     "Well,  but  no  one  but  himself 


14  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

knows  the  combination  of  the  safe.  He  doesn't 
know  that  you  found  a  piece  of  paper  with  the  fig- 
ures on  it,  does  he?" 

''Of  course  not,  but  it  won't  be  long  before  he 
begins  to  suspect  someone." 

"Which,  necessarily,  fastens  it  on  you.  Is  that 
it?" 

"Doesn't  it  look  like  it?" 

"Oh,  it  might,"  said  Goyle.  "That  is,  if  you  let 
it?" 

Bodney  looked  at  him  with  reproach.  "If  I  let  it. 
How  the  duece  can  I  help  it?  You  don't  suppose 
he'd  suspect  his  son  Howard,  do  you?  No  man 
could  trust  a  son  more  than  he  does." 

Goyle  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Didn't  trust 
him  with  the  combination  of  the  safe,  did  he  ?" 

"No,  for  it's  his  idea  of  business  not  to  trust  any- 
one absolutely.  He  laughs  and  jokes  all  right 
enough,  and  says  that  this  is  a  fine  old  world,  but 
he  hasn't  quite  forgotten  that  he  practiced  law 
among  rascals." 

"Yes,"  said  Goyle,  leaning  back  and  stretching 
himself.  "This  soft  air  makes  me  lazy.  It's  not 
natural,  you  know,  to  be  comfortable  in  Chicago. 
What  were  we  talking  about  ?" 

Bodney  turned  upon  him  almost  fiercely,  but  the 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.  15 

visitor  looked  at  him  with  the  self-command  of  im- 
pudent laziness.  He  was  not  given  to  starts.  He 
was  born  a  rascal,  and  had  cultivated  his  legacy. 
Coolness  may  be  a  virtue ;  it  is  also  the  strongest 
weapon  of  the  scoundrel,  and  Goyle  was  always 
cool.  He  motioned  with  his  hand,  bowed,  smiled, 
and  Bodney's  anger  was  gone. 

"Don't  get  hot,  old  man,"  said  he.  "Everything 
is  all  right.  If  it  isn't,  we'll  make  it  so.  Oh,  yes, 
we  were  talking  about  the  old  gentleman's  sus- 
picions. And  we've  got  to  take  care  of  them.  If 
I  understand  it,  Howard  is  to  marry  your  sister. 
You  are  all  of  a  family.  Your  father  and  the  Judge 
were  law  partners  years  ago,  and  you  and  your 
sister  were  adopted  by — " 

Bodney  waved  his  hand  impatiently.  "We  know 
all  about  that.  Yes,  and  he  has  been  a  father  to 
me  and  I  have  been — " 

"A  villain,  necessarily,"  Goyle  broke  in.  "Vil- 
lainy is  born  in  us,  and  for  a  time  we  may  hide  out 
our  inheritance,  but  we  can't  get  awayfrom  it.  And 
it's  only  the  weak  that  struggle  against  it.  The 
lamb  is  born  with  wool  and  the  dog  with  hair.  No, 
we  can't  get  away  from  it." 

"But  we  needn't  delight  in  it,"  said  Bodney,  with 
a  faint  struggle. 


16  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"No,  and  we  needn't  lie  down  on  it,  either.  But, 
to  business.  The  Judge  must  know  who  took  the 
money  from  the  safe." 

Bodney  started.  "What,  do  you  think  I  am  go- 
ing to  tell  him?" 

Goyle  yawned.    "No,  you  must  show  him." 

"Show  him !" 

"Yes.  He  must  see  his  son  Howard  take  the 
money." 

Bodney  stood  up  and  looked  down  upon  him. 
"Goyle,  are  you  a  fool,  or  do  you  take  me  for  one? 
Must  see  Howard  take  the  money!  What  do  you 
mean?  Do  you  think  I  can  bribe  Howard  to  take 
it?    I  don't  understand  you." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Goyle,  and  Bodney  obeyed, 
looking  at  him.  Goyle  lighted  a  cigarette,  turned 
and  pointed  to  the  vaHse.  "The  thief  is  in  that 
grip,  and  the  Judge  must  see  him  take  the  money 
from  the  safe.  Listen  to  me  a  minute.  Among  my 
numerous  accomplishments  I  number  several  fail- 
ures— one  as  an  actor.  But  we  learn  more  from  a 
failure  than  from  a  success.  ,  All  right.  I  heard 
Howard  say  that  tonight  he  is  going  to  a  reception. 
In  that  grip  is  his  semblance — make-up.  At  the 
proper  time,  after  Howard  is  gone,  you  must  lead 
the  Judge  in  here  and  see  me,  as  Howard,  take 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.  17 

money  from  the  safe.  On  the  mother's  account  the 
old  man  can  be  made  to  keep  quiet — to  hold  his 
tongue,  and  not  even  say  anything  to  his  son.  He 
changes  his  combination,  the  affair  blows  over — 
and  we've  got  the  money." 

"Monstrous !"  exclaimed  Bodney,  jumping  up 
and  glaring  at  Goyle. 

**Do  you  think  so?    Sit  down." 

Bodney  sat  down.    **Yes,  I  do  think  so."  he  said. 

"What,  the  crime  or  the — " 

"Both.  And  the  trick !  Anybody  could  see 
through  it.     It's  nonsense,  it's  rot." 

"Yes?  Now.  let  me  tell  you.  Brother  Bodney, 
that  life  itself  is  but  a  trick.  The  world  worships  a 
trick — art.  literature,  nuisic — all  tricks.  And  what 
sort  of  art  is  the  most  successful?  Bold  art.  What 
sort  of  scoundrel  is  the  most  admired  by  the  world  ? 
The  bold  scoundrel.     Bold  art,  my  boy." 

"But  art  has  its  limits  and  its  rules."  Bodney 
feebly  protested. 

Goyle  dropped  the  stub  of  his  cigarette  upon  the 
floor.  "Yes.  rules  for  imitators  to  follow.  Originals 
break  rules.  Rules  are  made  by  weaklings  to 
hamper  the  success  of  the  strong.  You've  got  to 
take  the  rig^ht  view  of  life."  he  said,  slowlv  liftinir 
his  hand  and  slowly  letting  it  drop  upon  his  knee. 


18  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

*'We  are  living  in  the  nervous  atmosphere  of  ad- 
venture and  bold  trickery.  The  spirit  of  this  town 
hates  the  stagnant;  we  wipe  our  muddy  feet  on 
tradition.  To  us  the  pig  squeal  of  the  present  is 
sweeter  than  the  flute  of  the  past.  You  and  I  are 
intellectual  failures,  and  why  ?  The  town  is  against 
us.  Put  an  advertisement  in  tomorrow  morn- 
ing's newspaper — *  Graduates  of  Harvard  and 
Yale  wanted,  fifteen  dollars  a  week,'  and  see 
how  many  answers  you'll  get.  A  cartload 
— and  from  men  who  were  turned  out  pre- 
pared to  fight  the  battle  of  life.  Think  of  it. 
The  man  who  has  had  his  mind  trained  to  failure, 
whose  teaching  has  made  him  a  refined  weakling, 
with  a  mind  full  of  quotations  and  mystic  theories — 
that  man  has  a  cause  to  be  avenged  upon  life,  upon 
society  for  misleading  him.  Hear  them  laughing  in 
there?  You  don't  hear  me  laughing.  I've  got 
nothing  to  laugh  about.  You  and  I  know  that  there 
isn't  any  future  beyond  this  infernal  life.  Then, 
why  hesitate  to  do  anything  that  works  toward  our 
advantage  here?  I'm  talking  to  your  reason  now. 
We  have  gambled,  and  we  have  lost."  He  turned 
and  shook  his  finger  at  the  valise.  "The  thief,  I  tell 
you,  is  in  that  grip,  and  he  will  get  us  out.  If  it 
fails,  of  course,  we  are  done  for,  but  we  are  done  for 


THE  STUDENT  AND  THE  ORATOR.     19 

if  we  don't  try.  I  know  it's  a  bold  trick,  but  that's 
in  its  favor.  It's  too  bold  to  be  expected  or  under- 
stood. It's  no  time  to  think  of  gratitude.  We've 
got  to  act.    Give  me  the  combination." 

They  got  up,  and  Bodney  stood  trembling.  He 
seemed  to  be  struggling  to  break  loose  from  some- 
thing that  held  him  in  its  grasp.  Goyle  gazed  into 
his  eyes.  Bodney  put  up  his  hand  as  if  to  shield 
them  from  a  dazzling  light. 

''Give  me  the  combination." 

Bodney  tore  loose  from  the  something  that 
seemed  to  be  gripping  him,  and  started  on  a  run  to- 
ward the  door.  Goyle  caught  him,  put  his  hand  on 
him,  held  him. 

"1  hear  them  coming.  Give  me  that  piece  of 
paper." 

Bodney  gave  him  a  slip  of  paper.  Goyle  took  up 
the  valise.  "Come  on,"  he  said,  and  Bodney  fol- 
lowed him  out  through  the  door  leading  into  the 
passage. 


20  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE  FAMILY  JOKE. 

The  Judge,  his  brother  William  and  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Bradley  entered  the  office.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  the 
Judge,  "I'm  delighted  that  you  have  been  called  to 
Chicago.  We  are  full  of  enterprise  here,  religious 
as  well  as  secular.  Sit  down.  And  we  push  relig- 
ious matters,  Mr.  Bradley.  Here  everything  takes 
up  the  vigorous  character  of  the  town.  You  know 
that  one  of  our  poets  has  said  that  when  the  time 
comes  we'll  make  culture  hum."  Bradley  sat  down, 
smiling.  "Willliam,"  said  the  Judge,  still  standing, 
"can't  you  find  a  chair?" 

"Oh,  I  believe  so,"  William  replied,  sitting 
down.  "But  why  do  you  make  everybody  sit  down 
and  then  stand  up  yourself?  Mr.  Bradley,  my 
brother  John  is  a  browbeater.  He  forgets  that  he 
ain't  always  on  the  bench." 

The  Judge  winked  at  Bradley,  and  laughed.  He 
was  full  of  good  humor,  sniffing  about  on  the  scent 
of  a  prank,  and  when  all  other  resources  failed,  he 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  21 

had  the  reserve  fund  of  his  brother,  the  family  joke, 
the  humorous  necessity. 

''You  remember,"  said  Bradley,  ''I  told  you,  some 
time  ago,  that  it  was  my  ambition  to  have  a  charge 
here." 

The  Judge,  standing  in  front  of  him,  began  to 
make  convincing  motions  Vv'ith  his  finger,  laying 
down  the  law,  as  William  termed  it.  'Tt's  the  field, 
Bradley.  You  can  raise  more  money  in  a  church 
here  than — " 

"Oh,  it  is  not  that.  Judge,"  the  preacher  broke  in. 
"Chicago  presents  a  fertile  opportunity  for  doing 
good,  for  making  men  better,  life  more  worth  liv- 
ing, and — " 

"Death  more  certain,"  William  suggested. 

"My  brother  doesn't  like  it  here,"  said  the  Judge. 

Bradley  turned  his  mild  eyes  upon  the  brother 
and  in  the  form  of  a  question,  said,  "Xo?" 

William  cleared  his  husky  throat.  "I  have  lived 
further  West,  where  a  fellow  may  make  you  get 
out  of  a  stage-coach  at  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol,  but  he 
won't  sneak  up  and  slip  his  hand  into  your  pocket." 

"My  brother  took  a  whirl  at  the  board  of  trade," 
said  the  Judge.  He  sat  down,  lighted  a  cigar,  and 
offered  one  to  Bradlev.    "Won't  vou  smoke  ?" 


22  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Not  now,"  Bradley  answered.  "I  am  trying  to 
break  myself." 

"Go  down  to  the  board  of  trade,"  William  sug- 
gested. The  Judge  laughed,  and  looked  as  if  he 
were  proud  of  his  family  joke.  "Won't  you  smoke, 
William?" 

"No,"  replied  the  humorous  necessity,  "I'll  wait 
till  I  go  to  my  room  and  then  smoke  sure  enough — 
a  pipe." 

"Smoke  it  here." 

"No,  I'll  put  it  off — always  enjoy  it  more  then. 
I  recollect  the  tenth  of  June,  sixty-three — was  it  the 
tenth  or  the  eleventh  ?  Anyway,  a  party  of  us  were 
going — it  was  the  eleventh.  Yes,  the  eleventh.  I 
was  only  a  young  fellow  at  the  time,  but  I  liked  a 
pipe,  and  on  that  day — no,  it  must  have  been  the 
tenth.    John,  did  I  say  the  eleventh?" 

"I  think  you  hung  a  little  in  favor  of  the  elev- 
enth, William."  He  winked  at  Bradley.  "And  I 
was  sorry  to  see  it,  too,  for  of  all  the  days  in  June, 
the  tenth  is  my  favorite." 

William  looked  at  him  and  cleared  his  throat,  but 
the  Judge  wore  the  mask  of  seriousness.  The 
brother  proceeded :  "Well,  I'm  reasonably  certain 
it  v/as  the  tenth.    Yes.    Well,  on  the  tenth  of  June, 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  23 

sixty-three,  a  party  of  us  were  going  over  to — yes, 
the  tenth — over  to — " 

''Hold  on  a  moment,"  said  the  Judge.  "Are  you 
quite  sure  it  was  the  tenth?  We  want  it  settled, 
don't  we,  Bradley?  Of  course,  you  are  much 
younger  than  we  are,  Bradley,  but  you  are  old 
enough  to  enter  into  the  importance  of  this  thing. 
As  far  as  he  can,  a  preacher  should  be  as  exact  as 
a  judge."  Bradley  nodded,  laughing,  and  the  flame 
of  William's  anger  burst  forth. 

"Confound  it,  John,  don't  you  suppose  I  know?" 

"I  hope  so,  William,"  said  the  Judge. 

William  snorted.  "You  don't  do  anything  of  the 
sort,  and  you  know  it." 

"Well,  if  I  don't  I  know  it,  of  course,  but—" 

"Oh,  you  be  confound.    You  are  all  the  time — " 

"Go  ahead  with  your  story." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir;  I'll  do  nothing 
of  the  sort.  You  are  all  the  time  trying  to  put  it 
on  me,  and  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort ;  and  the  first 
thing  you  know,  I'll  pick  up  and  leave  here.  I  was 
simply  going  to  tell  of  something  that  took  place 
on  the — Mr.  Bradley,  did  I  say  the  tenth?" 

The  preacher  had  not  been  able  to  keep  a  straight 
face,  but  with  reasonable  gravity  he  managed  to  say 
that  the  tenth  was  the  final  date  agreed  upon.    "By 


24  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

all  parties  concerned,"  said  the  Judge,  puffing  at  his 
cigar.  William  scratched  his  head.  "But,  after  all, 
it  must  have  been  on  the  eleventh." 

"Knocks  out  my  favorite  again,"  the  Judge  mut- 
tered, but  William  took  no  notice  of  the  interrup- 
tion. It  is  the  duty  of  a  family  joke  to  be  forbear- 
ing. 

"Ab  Tollivar  came  to  me  on  that  day,"  William 
began,  "and  said  that  there  was  to  be — " 

"On  the  tenth — came  to  you  on  the  tenth?"  the 
Judge  broke  in. 

"I  said  the  eleventh." 

"William,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  Judge  re- 
plied, "but  you  said  the  tenth,  raising  my  hopes, 
for  you  well  know  my  predilection  for  that  day.  In 
many  ways  a  man  may  be  pardoned  for  reckless- 
ness, but  not  in  the  matter  of  a  date.  The  exact 
time  of  an  occurrence  is  almost  as  important  as  the 
occurrence  itself.  History  would  lose  much  of  its 
value  if  the  dates — " 

"John,  when  you  get  into  one  of  your  tantrums 
you  are  enough  to  make  a  snow  man  melt  himself 
with  an  oath.    You'd  make  a  dog  swear." 

"Not  before  me  when  I  was  on  the  bench.  But 
your  story.    Ab  Tollivar  came  to  you  and — " 

"I'll  not  tell  it."     He  got  up  and  glared  at  the 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  25 

Judge.  Oughtn't  I  to  know  what  day  it  was  on?" 
"Yes,  and  I  believe  you  do.  Sit  down." 
''Til  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir.  I'll  not  sit  here 
to  be  insulted  by  you  or  anybody  else."  He  moved 
off  toward  the  door,  but  before  going  out,  halted, 
turned,  and  said:  '"Mr.  Bradley,  I'll  tell  you  the 
story  some  other  time.  But  John  shall  never  hear 
it."  He  gave  his  head  a  jerk,  intended  for  a  bow  of 
indignation,  and  strode  out. 

"He's  the  dearest  old  fellow  in  the  world,"  said 
the  Judge,  "and  I  couldn't  get  along  without  him." 
''Isn't  he  somewhat  younger  than  yourself?" 
"Yes,  two  years.     Come  in." 
Mrs.  Elbridge  entered  the  dingy-  room,  bright- 
ening it  with  her  presence.     "Won't  you  please 
come  into  the  drawing  room?"  she  said.     "It  is  so 
dreary  in  here.     Judge,  why  do  you  bring  visitors 
to  this  room?     After  the  Judge  retired  from  the 
bench,  Mr.  Bradley,  he  decided  to  move  the  main 
branch  of  his  law  ol^ce  out  here,  and  I  didn't  think 
that  he  would  make  it  his  home,  but  he  has ;  and, 
worse  than  that,  he  makes  it  a  home  for  all  his 
clients.    They  can  stroll  in  from  the  street  at  any 
time." 

"A  sort  of  old  shoe  that  fits  everybody,"  said  the 
Judge.    "The  only  way  to  live  is  to  be  comfortable, 


26  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

and  the  only  place  in  which  to  find  comfort  is  in  a 
room  where  nothing  can  be  spoiled." 

"But  won't  you  please  come  into  the  drawing 
room  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  as  soon  as  I  am  done  smoking." 
"But  you  may  smoke  in  there.    Do  come,  please. 
The  girls  want  to  see  Mr.  Bradley.     Won't  you 
make   him   come?"    she   asked,  appealing   to   the 
preacher. 

"Yes,  very  shortly,"  replied  Bradley.  "If  he 
doesn't  drop  his  cigar  pretty  soon  we'll  have  him 
driven  out  with  Mr.  William's  pipe." 

"The  threat  is  surely  dark  enough,"  she  rejoined. 
"Don't  be  long,  Judge,"  she  added,  turning  to  go. 
"Agnes  declares  that  you  shall  not  drag  Mr.  Brad- 
ley into  your  den  and  keep  him  shut  out  from  civil- 
ized Hfe." 

Agnes  was  a  Miss  Temple,  a  visitor,  bright  and 
full  of  mischief.  And  during  all  the  talk  the  preach- 
er's mind  had  been  dwelling  upon  her,  the  mischief 
in  her  eyes  and  the  dazzle  of  her  smile. 

"Miss  Temple  is  an  exceedingly  charming 
woman,"  he  said,  when  Mrs.  Elbridge  had  quitted 
the  room.  "She  and  Miss  Bodney  were  school- 
mates, I  believe." 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  27 

"Yes,  and  although  much   separated,  have  not 
broken  the  gauze  bonds  of  school  fellowship." 
"Gauze  bonds,  Judge?" 

"The  beautiful  but  flimsy  friendship  of  girlhood." 
"Younger  than  Miss  Bodney,  I  fancy." 
"Yes,  a  year  or  so.  She  lives  in  Quincy,  and  is 
here  for  a  month,  but  we  shall  keep  her  longer  if 
we  can.  She  is  a  source  of  great  entertainment.  Of 
course,  you  have  noticed  Florence  closely — you 
couldn't  help  it.  She  is  one  of  the  sweetest  crea- 
tures that  ever  lived,  and  she  has  character,  too.  I 
couldn't  think  more  of  her  if  she  were  my  daughter 
— and  she  is  to  be  my  daughter.  She  and  my  son 
Howard  are  soon  to  be  married.  It  is  the  prettiest 
romance  in  life  or  fiction.  They  are  near  the  same 
age.  They  went  to  school  hand  in  hand — sat  beside 
each  other  at  table,  year  after  year,  and  in  innocent 
love  kissed  each  other  good-night.  They  don't 
know  the  time  when  they  made  their  first  vows — 
upon  this  life  they  opened  their  eyes  in  love;  an 
infant  devotion  reached  forth 'its  dimpled  hand  and 
drew  their  hearts  together.    Beautiful." 

The  preacher  was  thoughtful  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  he  said:  "The  Spirit  of  God  doing  the 
work  it  loves  the  best.  And  they  are  soon  to  be 
married.    May  I  hope  to — " 


28  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

''You  shall  join  them  together,  Bradley." 

"I  thank  you." 

"No,  thank  the  memory  of  your  father.  I  knew 
him  well.  He  was  my  friend  at  a  time  when  friend- 
ship meant  something  to  me." 

"And  the  young  woman's  brother,  Judge.  I 
haven't  seen  much  of  him." 

"George  Bodney?  A  manly  young  fellow,  sir, 
quiet  and  thoughful.  He  and  Howard  are  to  take 
up  the  law  when  I  put  it  down — indeed,  they  have 
begun  already." 

"You  are  a  happy  man.  Judge." 

The  Judge  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  was 
thoughtful ;  his  cigar  had  gone  out,  and  he  held  it 
listlessly.  "Yes,  for  the  others  are  so  happy."  He 
dropped  the  cigar  stub  upon  the  ash  tray,  roused 
himself,  and  said:  "Nothing  bothers  me  now.  I 
am  out  of  the  current  of  life ;  I  am  in  a  quiet  pool, 
in  the  shade ;  and  I  don't  regret  having  passed  out 
of  the  swift  stream  where  the  sun  was  blazing.  No, 
I  am  rarely  worried.  Yes,  I  am  annoyed  at  times, 
to  be  perfectly  frank,  now,  for  instance,  and  by  a 
most  peculiar  thing.  I — er — a  friend  of  mine  told 
me  a  story  that  bothers  me,  although  it  is  but  a 
trifle  and  shouldn't  worry  me  at  all.  He  is  a  lawyer, 
situated  very  much  as  I  am.    He  has  been  missing 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  29 

money  from  his  safe.  No  one  but  himself  knows 
the  combination.  He  couldn't  suspect  either  of  his 
sons ;  they  didn't  know  the  combination — not  to  be 
considered  at  all.  He  doesn't  keep  large  sums  on 
hand,  of  course ;  just  enough  to  accommodate  some 
of  his  old-fashioned  clients  who  like  to  do  busi- 
ness in  the  old-fashioned  way.  It  bothered  him,  for 
he  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  himself  was  getting 
up  at  night  and  in  his  sleep  taking  the  money  from 
the  safe  and  hiding  it  somewhere.  For  years,  when- 
ever he  has  had  anything  important  on  hand,  he  has 
been  in  the  habit  of  waking  himself  at  morning 
with  an  alarm  clock.  And  I  told  him  to  set  the 
clock  in  the  safe  and  catch  himself.  He  has  done 
better  than  that — has  fixed  a  gong  so  that  it  will 
ring  whenever  the  inner  drawer  of  the  safe  is  pulled 
open.  Of  course,  it  is  nothing  to  me,  but — ah,  come 
in,  Agnes." 

"Your  wife  has  sent  a  bench  warrant  for  you," 
said  the  young  woman,  entering  the  room  and 
shaking  her  finger  at  the  Judge. 

"To  be  served  by  a  charming  deputy,"  said  Brad- 
ley. 

She  laughed.  "No  wonder  preachers  catch 
women,"  she  replied.  "I'm  glad  I  struck  you.  I 
was  afraid  I  might  miss." 


30  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

The  Judge  arose  and  bowed  to  her.  "We  might 
dodge  an  arrow  but  not  a  perfume,"  said  he. 

*'Now,  Mr.  Judge,  when  did  you  come  from  the 
South?"  she  cried.  ''But  are  you  going  with  me? 
There  are  some  more  people  in  there ;  a  young  fel- 
low that  looks  like  a  scared  rabbit.  But  he's  got 
nerve  enough  to  say  cawn't.  I  told  him  that  if  he'd 
come  to  Quincy  we'd  make  him  say  kain't." 

''Well,  Bradley,"  said  the  Judge,  "we  are  prison- 
ers.    Come  on." 

Bradley  halted  a  moment  to  speak  to  Agnes. 
The  Judge  turned  and  asked  if  Howard  and  George 
Bodney  were  in  the  drawing  room.  She  replied 
that  Howard  had  gone  or  was  going  to  a  reception 
and  that  Mr.  Bodney  was  somewhere  about  the 
house.  She  had  seen  him  passing  along  the  hall 
with  Mr.  Goyle.  Just  then,  in  evening  dress,  How- 
ard came  into  the  room.  "I  thought  I  heard  Flor- 
ence in  here,"  said  he,  looking  about. 

"Going  to  leave  us?"  said  the  Judge. 

"Yes,  to  bore  and  be  politely  bored.  I  want  Flor- 
ence to  see  if  I  look  all  right." 

"Oh,  I  wonder,"  cried  Agues,  "if  any  man  will 
ever  have  that  much  confidence  in  me.  There 
she  is  now.  Florence,  here's  a  man  that  wants  you 
to  put  the  stamp  of  approval  upon  his  appearance." 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  31 

Howard  turned  to  Florence.    "I  wanted  you  to 
see  me,"  he  said. 

"l\e  been  looking  for  you,"  she  repHed. 
Bradley,  in  an  undertone,  spoke  to  the  Judge. 
'1  can  see  the  picture  you  drew  of  them." 

"No,"  replied  the  preacher,  with  the  light  of  ad- 
miration in  his  honest  eyes. 

Agnes  spoke  to  Howard.  'It  must  have  been 
nearly  half  an  hour  since  you  and  Florence  saw  each 
other.  What  an  age,"  she  added,  with  the  carica- 
ture of  a  sigh.  ''But  come  on,  Judge,  you  and  Mr. 
Bradley."  She  led  the  two  men  away,  looking  back 
with  another  mock  sigh  at  Florence. 

"1  may  not  be  back  till  late,"  said  Howard,  "and 
I  couldn't  go  without  my  good-night  kiss." 

She  smiled  upon  him.     "I  knew  that  you  had 
not  forgotten  it.    And  yet,"  she  added,  looking  at 
him — "and  yet  I  was  anxious." 
"Anxious?" 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  know  why.     Howard,  within 
the  past  few  days  my  love  for  you  has  taken  so— so 
trembling  a  turn.    We  have  been  so  happy,  and—" 
"And  what,  Florence?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  but  something  makes  me 
afraid  now.  You  know  that  there  are  times  when 
happiness  halts  to  shudder." 


32  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

He  put  his  arm  about  her.  "Yes,  we  are  some- 
times afraid  that  something  may  happen  because  it 
has  not.  But  it  is  only  a  reproachful  fancy.  We 
see  the  sorrow  of  others  and  are  afraid  that  we  don't 
deserve  to  be  happy.  But  I  must  go,"  he  added 
kissing  her. 

She  continued  to  cling  to  him.  "Do  I  look  all 
right?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know — I  can't  see." 

"Can't  see?" 

"No.  Love,  which  they  say  is  blind,  has  blinded 
me." 

He  kissed  her  again.  "But  if  love  blinds,  Flor- 
ence, it  would  make  a  bat  of  me.  You  are  serious 
tonight,"  he  added,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  am."  The  sound  of  laughter  came  from 
the  drawing  room.  "Yes,  I  am,  and  I  must  go  in 
there  to  be  pleased.  Howard,  do  you  believe  that 
anything  could  separate  us  ?" 

"Really,  you  are  beginning  to  distress  me.  I  have 
never  known  what  it  was  to  live  without  you,  and  I 
couldn't  know  it.  But  cheer  up,  won't  you?  To- 
morrow we — " 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  broke  in.  "It  was  only  a 
shadow  and  it  has  passed.     But  I  wonder  where 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  33 

such  shadows  come  from.     Why  do  they  come? 
Who  has  the  ordering  of  them  ?" 

As  they  were  walking  toward  the  door  opening 
into  the  hall,  William  entered  from  the  passage, 
smoking  his  pipe,  his  thin  hair  rumpled  as  if  he  had 
just  emerged  from  a  contest.  Howard  and  Florence 
did  not  see  him,  and  he  called  to  them. 

"I  say,  there,  Howard,  I  thought  you  were 
going  out." 

The  young  man  halted  and  looked  back  with  a 
smile.    ''Don't  you  see  me  going  out.  Uncle  Billy?" 

"Now  look  here,  young  fellow !"  exclaimed  the 
old  man  in  a  rage,  his  hair  seeming  to  stand  up 
straighter,  "I  don't  want  to  be  Uucle  Billied  by  you, 
and  I  won't  have  it,  either.  Your  daddy's  got  it  in 
for  me  lately,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'm  going  to  put 
up  with  it  much  longer.  And  Florence,  you'd  better 
speak  to  him  about  it.  I  want  to  give  him  every  op- 
portunity to  mend  his  ways  toward  me,  and  you'd 
better  caution  him  before  it's  too  late.  Do  you  un- 
derstand ?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  William,"  she  answered.  "And  I 
will  speak  to  him." 

"Well,  see  that  you  do.  And,  mind  you,  I  wasn't 
certain  whether  it  was  on  the  tenth  or  the  eleventh ; 

8 


34  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

I  was  willing  to  give  either  the  benefit  of  the  doubt ; 
I—" 

"That's  all  right,  Uncle  WilHam,"  said  Howard. 

The  old  man  glared  at  him.  "It's  not  all  right, 
sir,  and  you  know  it.  But  go  ahead.  I  don't  be- 
long to  the  plot  of  this  household,  anyway.  I'm 
only  a  side  issue."  Howard  and  Florence  passed 
out,  and  he  shouted  after  them.  "Do  you  hear  me? 
Only  a  side  issue." 

Just  then  Bodney  came  in.  "You  are  a  what, 
Uncle  WilHam  ?"  he  asked,  looking  about. 

"I  said  a  side  issue." 

"What's  that?" 

"If  you  haven't  got  sense  enough  to  know,  I 
haven't  the  indulgence  to  tell  you." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  pipe,  Uncle  William?" 

"I  got  it  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,"  said  the  old 
fellow.  , 

"It  must  have  come  there  about  the  time  the 
mountains  arrived.    Whew !" 

"Now,  look  here,  George  Bodney,  don't  you 
bring  up  the  tail  end  of  an  entire  evening  of  insult 
by  whewing  at  my  pipe.  I  won't  stand  it,  do  you 
hear?" 

Bodney  undoubtedly  heard,  but  he  did  not  reply ; 
he  went  over  to  the  desk  and  began  to  look  about, 


THE  FAMILY  JOKE.  35 

moving  papers,  as  if  searching  for  something.  "I 
left  my  knife  here,  somewhere,"  said  he.  "Must 
have  a  Httle  more  Hght."  He  turned  up  the  gas 
drop  Hght  on  the  table,  went  back  to  the  desk,  and, 
pretending  to  find  his  knife,  turned  down  the  drop 
hght  lower  than  it  had  been  before. 

"There's  no  use  to  put  out  the  light  simply  be- 
cause you've  found  your  knife,"  said  William.  "It 
may  be  to  your  advantage  to  have  it  dark,  but  I  like 
to  see.  I  haven't  always  lived  in  this  soot  and 
smoke ;  I  have  lived  where  I  could  see  the  sky  from 
one  year's  end  to  another." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Bodney,  "but  how  long 
do  you  expect  to  stay  in  this  room  ?" 

"Oh,  don't  pay  any  attention  to  me.  I  don't  be- 
long to  the  plot." 

"What  plot  ?"  Bodney  exclaimed,  with  a  start. 
"Why,  the  plot  of  this  household — the  general 
plot  of  the  whole  thing." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  said  Bodney. 

"T'm  glad  you  do.  And,  here,  just  a  minute. 
The  Judge  and  I  had  a  difiference  tonight." 

"Not  a  serious  one,  I  hope." 

"Devilish  serious.  Wait  a  moment.  I  set  out 
by  admitting  that  I  was  not  exactly  certain  whether 


36  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

it  was  on  the  tenth  or  the  eleventh.    But  I  settled  it, 
finally,  I  think,  on  the  eleventh.     I — " 

"Eleventh  of  what?" 

"Of  June,  sixty-three.  On  that  day,  as  I  started 
to  tell  them — now,  I  want  to  be  exact,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it."  The  old  man  sat  down,  crossed  his 
legs,  took  a  few  puffs  at  his  pipe,  preliminaries  to  a 
long  recital;  but  the  young  fellow,  standing  near, 
began  to  shift  about  in  impatience.  "I  remember 
exactly  what  sort  of  a  day  it  was.  There  had  been  a 
threat  of  rain,  but  the  clouds — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  anything  about  it." 

"What !" 

"I  say,  I  don't  care  anything  about  it." 

"The  hell  you  don't !  Why,  you  trifling  rascal,  I 
raised  you ;  you  owe  almost  your  very  existence  to 
me.  And  now  you  tell  me  that  you  don't  care  any- 
thing about  it.  Go  on  out,  then.  You  shan't  hear 
it  now,  after  your  ingratitude."  Bodney  strode  out, 
and  the  old  man  shouted  after  him,  "I  wouldn't  tell 
you  that  story  to  save  your  life."  Laughter  came 
from  the  drawing  room.  William  grunted  con- 
temptuously. "There's  John  telling  his  yarns.  And 
that  preacher — why,  if  I  couldn't  tell  a  better  story 
than  a  preacher — "  He  broke  ofi  and  got  up  with 
sudden  energy.     "But  they've   got  to   hear  that 


THE   FAMILY  JOKE.  37 

story.    They  can't  get  away  from  it."    And  mutter- 
ing, he  walked  out  .briskly. 

Bodney  stepped  back  into  the  room.  He  looked 
at  the  light,  turned  it  lower,  sat  down  and,  leaning 
forward,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  But  he 
did  not  remain  long  in  this  position ;  he  got  up  and 
went  to  the  safe,  put  his  hand  upon  it,  snatched  it 
away,  put  it  back  and  stood  there,  gazing  at  the 
light.  Then  he  went  to  the  door  and  beckoned. 
Goyle,  disguised  as  Howard,  walked  in  with  inso- 
lent coolness.  In  Bodney's  room  he  had  dressed 
himself,  posing  before  the  glass,  arranging  his 
bronze  beard,  clipping  here  and  there,  touching  up 
his  features  with  paint — and  Bodney  had  stood  by, 
dumb  with  astonishment.  The  dress  suit,  every- 
thing, was  complete,  and  when  he  came  out  he  imi- 
tated Howard's  walk.  Bodney  could  not  help  ad- 
miring the  superb  control  he  had  of  his  nerves ;  but 
more  than  once  he  felt  an  impulse  to  kill  him,  par- 
ticularly when,  in  response  to  the  beckoning,  he 
stepped  into  the  ofhce. 

''If  it  fails,  I  shoot  you,"  Bodney  whispered. 
"Rot.     It  can't  fail.     Don't  I  look  like  him?" 
"Yes.     You  would  deceive  me — you — " 
"Art,  bold  art,"  said  Goyle.    "A  man  ought  to  be 
willing  to  die  for  his  art.     Turn  the  light  a  little 
higher." 


38  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"No,  it's  high  enough." 

Goyle  walked  over  leisurely  and  turned  up  the 
light.  'That's  better.  We  must  give  him  a  chance 
to  see." 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Bodney,  as  Goyle  took 
his  position  at  the  safe.  "Wolf,  I  want  to  acknowl- 
edge myself  the  blackest  scoundrel  on  the  earth." 

"Not  necessary.    Taken  for  granted.    Go  ahead." 

Bodney  turned  to  go,  but  hesitated  at  the  hall 
door  and  seemed  again  to  struggle  with  something 
that  had  him  in  its  grasp.  Goyle  motioned,  and 
said,  "Go  ahead,  fool."  Bodney  passed  into  the 
hall,  and  Goyle  began  to  turn  the  knob  of  the  safe, 
holding  his  paper  to  catch  the  light.  He  heard 
the  voice  of  Bodney.  "It  won't  take  long.  I  want 
you  to  help  me — "  The  door  swung.  Goyle  pulled 
open  the  drawer,  and  then  followed  three  sharp 
strokes  of  the  gong,  just  as  loud  laughter  burst 
from  the  drawing  room.  Goyle  jumped  back.  The 
Judge  rushed  in,  with  Bodney  cHnging  to  him. 
Goyle  turned  as  if  he  had  not  seen  the  Judge  and 
rushed  from  the  room.  Bodney  struggled  with  the 
Judge,  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  and  forced  him 
down  upon  a  chair.  "Judge,  father,  not  a  word — for 
his  mother's  sake.  You  must  freeze  your  heart  for 
her  sake."  The  old  man  dropped  with  a  groan, 
Bodney  bending  over  him. 


Goyle  began  to  turn  the  knob  of  the  safe. 


«    C        C      t      *i 


THE  NIGHT  CAME  BACK.  39 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  NIGHT  CAME  BACK  WITH  A   RUSH. 

Bodney  led  the  Judge  to  his  room  on  the  second 
floor,  where  he  left  him  almost  in  a  state  of  collapse. 
He  spoke  of  calling  Mrs.  Elbridge,  but  the  old  man 
shook  his  head,  which  Bodney  knew  he  would  do, 
and  in  a  broken  voice  said  that  he  wanted  to  be  left 
alone.  At  the  time  when  the  Judge  left  the  drawing 
room  with  Bodney,  Bradley  was  bidding  the  family 
good-night,  but  lingered  a  moment  longer  to  join 
the  company  in  a  laugh  at  William,  who,  having 
settled  his  date  to  his  own  satisfaction,  had  forgotten 
the  point  of  the  story. 

Bodney's  room  was  on  the  first  floor,  of¥  the 
passage,  and,  going  thither,  he  found  Goyle  sitting 
on  the  side  of  the  bed,  not  as  Howard,  but  as  him- 
self. The  scoundrel  declared  that  it  had  worked 
like  a  charm,  but  that  the  clang  of  the  gong  had 
prevented  his  getting  any  money.  That,  however, 
was  a  minor  consideration.  He  needed  money,  it 
was  true ;  he  had  not  expected  much,  but  even  a 


40  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

little  would  have  helped  him  greatly.  A  lower  order 
of  mind  might  have  brooded  over  the  disappoint- 
ment, but  his  mind  was  exultant  over  the  success 
of  his  art.  He  argued  that  if  his  impersonation  of 
a  son  could  deceive  a  father,  he  might  bring  forth 
a  Hamlet  to  charm  an  audience. 

''How  is  he?"  Goyle  asked,  as  Bodney  stepped 
into  the  room. 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  now,"  said  Bodney,  sitting 
down.  He  took  up  a  newspaper  and  fanned  himself. 
"For  a  time  I  jwished  that  I  had  killed  you." 

"Yes?    And  now?" 

"I  wish  that  you  had  killed  me.  Tell  me,  are  you 
a  human  being?  I  don't  believe  you  are.  I  don't 
believe  that  any  human  being  could  have  the  in- 
fluence over  me  that  you  have  had — that  you  still 
have,  you  scoundrel.    I  wish  I  could  stab  you." 

"Can't  you?" 

"No.  My  arm  would  fall,  paralyzed.  I  used  to 
scout  the  idea  of  a  personal  devil,  but  I  believe  in 
one  now.  He  is  sitting  on  my  bed.  He  has  com- 
pelled me  to  do  something — " 

"It  worked  like  a  charm,  George ;  and  now,  old 
fellow,  don't  hold  a  grudge  against  me.  I  have 
taught  you  more  than  you  ever  learned  before ;  I 
have  shown  you  that  a  man  can  do  almost  any- 


THE  NIGHT  CAME  BACK.  41 

thing— that  men  are  but  children  to  be  dehided  by 
trickery.  There,  for  instance,  is  a  judge,  a  man  who 
was  set  up  to  pass  upon  the  actions  of  men.  What 
did  I  do?  Convinced  him  that  his  own  son  is  a 
robber.  Was  that  right?  Perhaps.  Why  should 
such  a  man  have  been  a  judge?  What  wrongs  may 
not  his  shortsightedness  have  caused  him  to  com- 
mit? We  can't  tell.  He  may  have  committed  a 
thousand  unconscious  crimes.  But  an  unconscious 
crime  may  be  just  as  bad  as  a  conscious  one.  He 
has  been  sitting  above  other  men.  Now  let  him 
suffer;  it  is  due  him.  x\nd  his  son!  What  does  he 
care  for  you  or  me  ?  He  reads,  and  thinks  that  he 
is  wise.  He  has  stuffed  himself  with  the  echo  of 
feeble  minds;  and  now  let  him  wallow  in  his 
wisdom.  Look  at  me.  Are  you  sorry  for  what  we 
have  done?    Look  at  me." 

Bodney  made  an  effort  to  get  up,  but  his  strength 
seemed  to  fail  him,  and  he  remained  as  he  was, 
gazing  at  Goyle.  "George,"  Goyle  continued,  his 
eyes  glittering,  "I  was  the  hope  of  a  father,  a  better 
man  than  Judge  Elbridge.  But  he  was  ruined  by 
honest  men  and  died  of  a  broken  heart.  That  was 
all  right;  it  was  a  part  of  life's  infamous  plan. 
Everything  is  all  right— a  part  of  the  plan.  My 
friends  called  me  a  genius ;  they  believed  that  I  was 


42  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

to  astonish  the  world,  and  I  believed  it.  I  bent  my- 
self to  study,  but  one  day  the  bubble  burst  and  I 
felt  then  that  nothing  amounted  to  anything — that 
all  was  a  fraud.  The  world  is  the  enemy  of  every 
man.  Every  man  is  the  natural  enemy  of  every 
other  man.  Evil  has  always  triumphed  and  al- 
ways will.  The  churches  meet  to  reform  their 
creeds.  After  a  while  they  must  revise  out  God — 
another  bubble,  constantly  bursting.  Then,  why 
should  there  be  a  conscience?  That's  the  point  I 
want  to  make.  Why  should  you  and  I  suffer  on 
account  of  anything  we  have  done?  Everything 
you  see  will  soon  pass  away.  Nothing  is  the  only 
thing  eternal.  Then,  let  us  make  the  most  of  our 
opportunities  for  animal  enjoyment.  The  animal 
is  the  only  substance.  Intellectuality  is  a  shadow. 
Are  you  sorry  for  what  I  have  done?" 

He  fixed  his  glittering  eyes  upon  Bodney,  and, 
gazing  at  him,  Bodney  answered:  "No,  I  am  not. 
It  was  marked  out  for  us,  and  I  don't  suppose  we 
could  help  it ;  but  somehow — somehow,  I  wish 
that  I  had  killed  you." 

"What  for  ?  to  cut  off  a  few  days  of  animalism — 
to  make  of  me  an  eternal  nothing?  That  wouldn't 
have  done  any  good." 

"It  would  have  prevented  the  misery — '* 


THE  NIGHT  CAME  BACK.  43 

Goyle  stopped  him  with  a  snap  of  his  fingers. 
*Tor  how  long?  For  a  minute.  It  will  all  pass 
away.  Be  cheerful,  now.  We  haven't  any  money 
as  a  reward  of  our  enterprise  and  art,  but  we  have 
let  the  life  blood  out  of  all  suspicion  attaching  to  us. 
Let  us  go  to  bed." 
"You  go  to  bed.  I  will  lie  on  the  floor." 
"No  use  to  put  yourself  out,  George.  I'll  He  on 
the  floor." 

"No,"  said  Bodney,  and  Goyle  let  him  have  his 
way.  The  hours  passed,  Bodney  lying  in  a  restless 
stupor,  but  Goyle  slept.  Sunlight  poured  into  the 
room  and  Bodney  got  up.  He  went  to  the  window 
and  stood  to  cool  his  face  in  the  fresh  air.  He 
looked  back  at  the  bed.  Goyle  was  still  sleeping, 
breathing  gently.  The  horror  of  the  night  came 
in  a  rush.  And  there  was  the  cause  of  it,  sleeping 
in  peace.  Bodney  snatched  open  a  drawer  and 
seized  a  razor.  Goyle  turned  over,  with  his  face  to- 
ward the  window. 

"Ah,  up?  What  time  is  it,  George?" 
Bodney  dropped  the  razor  and  sat  down.  "It  is 
time  to  get  up,"  he  said.  Goyle  got  out  of  bed  and 
began  to  exercise  himself  by  striking  out  with  his 
fists.  He  had  passed,  he  said,  a  night  of  delicious 
rest,  with  not  a  dream  to  disturb  him.    He  whistled 


44  '  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

merrily  as  he  dressed  himself.  Bodney  stood  with 
his  elbow  resting  on  the  marble  top  of  the  "bu- 
reau," his  face  yellow  and  haggard.  Glancing  down 
into  the  half  closed  drawer,  he  saw  the  razor  and 
shuddered  at  the  sight  of  it.  With  his  left  hand  he 
felt  of  his  right  arm,  gripping  it  from  shoulder  down 
to  wrist  as  if  in  some  strange  manner  it  had  been 
deprived  of  strength.  Goyle  moved  toward  him 
and  he  pushed  against  the  drawer  to  close  it,  but  the 
keen  eye  of  the  ''artist"  fell  upon  the  open  razor, 
and  glittered  like  the  eye  of  a  snake.  But  he  showed 
no  sign  of  fear  or  even  of  resentment. 

"I  will  stay  to  breakfast  with  you,"  he  said,  put- 
ting his  hand  on  Bodney's  shoulder. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  Bodney  feebly  replied. 

''Oh,  no  you  don't.  Come,  brace  up  now.  My 
part  of  the  work  is  done,  but  yours  is  just  begin- 
ning. I  have  saved  you  from  suspicion,  but  you 
must  keep  yourself  saved.  That's  right,  brighten 
up.  Now  you  are  beginning  to  look  like  yourself. 
Why,  nothing  so  very  bad  has  been  done.  We 
have  enacted  a  little  drama,  that's  all.  Such  things, 
or  things  on  a  par  with  them,  are  enacted  every 
day.  The  newspapers  are  full  of  stranger  things. 
We  haven't  hired  a  'castle'  and  entered  upon  a 
career  of  wholesale  murder;  we  haven't  cut  up  a 
woman  and  made  her  into  sausage." 


THE  NIGHT  CAME  BACK.  45 

The  voice  of  William  was  heard  in  the  passage, 
scolding  a  housemaid  for  disturbing  his  papers. 
The  old  man  tapped  on  the  door  and  Goyle  opened 

it. 

"Ah,  you  here?"  said  the  old  man,  stepping  into 
the  room.  "You'd  better  go  in  to  breakfast.  Well, 
sir,  I  never  saw  anything  hke  it  in  my  life.  I  can't 
put  a  thing  down  and  find  it  where  I  left  it.  George, 
what's  the  matter  with  you  this  morning?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  sir.  I  had  a  headache  and  didn't 
sleep  very  well.  That's  all.  Is  the  Judge  up  yet?" 
'1  beheve  not.  And  when  he  does  get  up  I  ^ant 
to  have  a  talk  with  him.  I'll  be  hanged  if  he  didn't 
get  that  preacher  to  laughing  at  me  last  night- 
laughing  at  me  right  here  in  my  own  house.  I  can 
stand  a  good  deal,  but  when  a  preacher  laughs  at 
me,  why  things  have  gone  too  far." 

Goyle  smiled  upon  him.  "But,  Mr.  Elbridge,  a 
preacher  means  quite  as  little  when  he  laughs  as 
when  he  talks." 

This  pleased  the  old  man,  and  he  chuckled,  his 
fat  sides  shaking.  Bodney  smiled,  too,  and  Goyle 
gave  him  a  look  of  approval  and  it  appeared  to 
brighten  him.  He  dressed  himself  hastily,  turning 
occasionally  to  heed  a  remark  made  by  Goyle  or  the 
old  man,  and  when  he  stepped  out  of  the  room  to  go 
with  them,  to  breakfast,  his  face  was  not  so  yellow, 
nor  his  countenance  so  haggard. 


46  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM. 


About  two  hours  later  Florence  was  sitting  alone 
in  the  drawing  room  when  Howard  entered.  She 
asked  him  if  he  had  seen  his  father  that  morning. 
He  sat  down  on  a  sofa  beside  her  and  said,  after 
a  moment's  reflection : 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him?    Why  did  you  ask?" 

She  seemed  worried  and  did  not  immediately 
answer  him.  He  repeated  his  question.  "Because 
he  spoke  of  you  at  breakfast,"  she  said.  "He  didn't 
appear  at  all  well — sat  staring  about,  and — " 

"That  explains  it,"  said  Howard. 

"Explains  what?"  she  asked. 

"His  treatment  of  me." 

"Treatment  of  you?  Has  anything  gone  wrong?" 

"Yes,  in  the  office,  just  now.  When  I  went  in  he 
jumped  up  from  his  desk,  threw  down  a  hand  full 
of  papers,  and  stared  at  me — muttered,  seemed  to 
struggle  with  himself,  sat  down,  and  asked  me  to 
leave  him  alone.    He  never  acted  that  way  toward 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  47 

me  before.  I'm  afraid  he's  ill.  Why,  he's  the  most 
jovial  man  in  the  world,  and — I'm  worried.  I  don't 
understand  it.    If  he's  sick,  why  didn't  he  say  so  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  don't  let  it  worry  you,  dear," 
she  said. 

"But  it  does,  Florence,  to  be  turned  upon  in  that 
way.  What  did  he  say  about  me  at  the  table  this 
morning?  He  surely  wasn't  angry  because  I  didn't 
get  up  in  time  for  breakfast." 

"Surely  not.  He  didn't  say  anything,  only  asked 
where  you  were,  and  kept  staring  at  the  place 
where  you  sit." 

"And  is  that  the  reason  you  asked  me  if  I  had 
seen  him?" 

"Yes,  that  and  the  fact  that  he  didn't  appear  to 
be  well." 

"I  don't  understand  it.  Why,  he  has  joked  with 
me  all  my  life,  sick  or  well.  It  hurts  me."  And, 
after  a  slight  pause,  he  added:  "I  wonder  if  he 
turned  on  George,  too." 

"It  wouldn't  seem  so,  for  as  he  was  going  out  of 
the  breakfast  room  he  put  his  hand  on  brother's 
shoulder  and  leaned  on  him." 

Bodney  came  in  at  that  moment,  and,  looking 
about,  asked  if  they  had  seen  Goyle.  As  he  was 
going  out,  Howard  called  him. 


48  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

*'Oh,  George,  just  a  moment.  Have  you  no- 
ticed anything  strange  about  father  this  morning?" 

And  Bodney  was  master  of  himself  when  he  an- 
swered :  "Nothing  much.  Only  he  didn't  seem 
to  be  as  well  as  usual.  It  will  pass  ofif.  I  wonder 
where  that  fellow  is?"  He  strode  out,  and  they 
heard  him  talking  to  Goyle  in  the  hall. 

"Put  his  hand  on  George's  shoulder  and  leaned 
on  him,"  Howard  mused,  aloud.  "Then  he  is  not 
well.  George  knows  it  and  doesn't  want  to  distress 
me  by  telling  me.    Did  he  sit  up  late?" 

"No.  Mr.  Bradley  had  to  go  early,  and  just  as 
he  was  taking  his  leave  brother  stepped  in  and 
asked  your  father  to  help  him  with  an  important 
matter — some  abstract  of  title,  or  something  of 
the  sort,  and  they  went  out  and  he  didn't  come  back. 
I  don't  want  to  distress  you,  but  your  mother  said 
that  he  walked  the  floor  nearly  all  night." 

"Did  she?  And  George  knows  more  than  he  is 
willing  to  tell.  But  why  do  they  try  to  shield  me  ? 
It  would  be  all  right  to  shield  mother  if  anything 
were  wrong,  but  if  there's  a  burden,  I  ought  to  help 
bear  it." 

She  besought  him  not  to  be  worried,  assuring  him 
that  nothing  had  gone  very  far  wrong  and  that 
everything  would  come  right.     The  clearness  and 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  49 

the  strength  of  her  mind,  her  individuality,  her 
strength  of  character,  ahvays  had  a  quick  influence 
upon  him,  and  he  threw  ofif  the  heavier  part  of  his 
worry  and  they  talked  of  other  matters,  of  the  re- 
ception which  he  had  attended  the  night  before. 
He  repeated  a  part  of  a  stupid  address  delivered  by 
a  prominent  man,  and  they  laughed  at  it,  he  declar- 
ing that  nearly  all  men,  no  matter  how  prominent 
or  bright,  were  usually  dull  at  a  reception.  And, 
after  a  time,  she  asked:  ''What  sort  of  a  man  is 
Mr.  Goyle?" 

"Oh,  he's  all  right,  I  suppose;  smart,  full  of  odd 
conceits.  I  don't  know  him  very  well.  He  comes 
into  the  down-town  ofBce  quite  frequently,  but  he 
rarely  has  much  to  say  to  me.  George  seems  to  be 
devoted  to  him." 

Florence  shook  her  head,  deploring  the  intimacy. 
"I  don't  like  him,"  she  said.  "And  Agnes  says  she 
hates  him.  She  snaps  him  up  every  time  he  speaks 
to  her."  She  looked  at  Howard,  and  saw  that  his 
worry  was  returning  upon  him.  She  put  the  hair 
back  from  his  forehead,  affection's  most  instinctive 
by-play,  and  said  that  he  must  not  be  downcast  at 
a  mere  nothing,  a  passing  whim  on  the  part  of  his 
father.    "And  it  was  only  a  whim,"  she  added. 

"But  whims  make  an  atmosphere,"  he  replied. 

4 


so  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Not  ours,  Howard — not  yours,  not  mine.  Love 
makes  our  atmosphere." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  about  her,  "our 
breath  of  hfe.  Florence,  last  night  you  were  de- 
pressed, and  now  I  am  heavy."  Their  heads,  bent 
forward,  touched  each  other.  "And  your  love  is 
dearer  to  me  now  than  ever  before."  Their  faces 
were  turned  from  the  hall  door.  The  Judge  silently 
entered,  and,  seeing  them,  started  toward  them, 
making  motions  with  his  hands  as  if  he  would  tear 
them  apart.  But  Howard,  after  a  brief  pause,  spoke 
again,  and  the  old  man  halted,  gazing  at  them. 
"Florence,  you  asked  me,  last  night,  if  anything 
could  separate  us,  and  now  I  ask  you  that  same 
question.    Could  anything  part  us  ?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  man,  not  woman,  nothing 
but  God,  and  he  has  bound  us  together." 

"With  silken  cords  woven  in  the  loom  of  eter- 
nity," he  replied ;  and  the  Judge  wheeled  about,  and, 
with  a  sob,  was  gone,  unseen. 

"What  was  that  ?"  Florence  asked,  looking  round. 
"It  sounded  like  a  sob." 

"We  were  not  listening  for  sobs  and  should  not 
have  heard  them,"  he  replied.  "It  wasn't  any- 
thing." 

William  came  in,  clearing  his  throat.    "Don't  let 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  51 

me  disturb  you,"  he  said,  as  they  got  up.'  '1  don't 
belong  to  the  plot  at  all."  He  began  to  look  about. 
''I  left  my  pipe  somewhere." 

'1  don't  think  it's  here,  Uncle  William,"  said 
Howard.  ''You  surely  wouldn't  leave  it  here ;  and, 
besides,  I  don't  hear  it." 

There  came  a  sort  of  explosion,  and  upon  it  was 
borne  the  words,  "What's  that?  You  don't  hear  it? 
You  don't  ?  Xow  what  have  I  ever  done  to  you  to 
deserve  such  an  insult?    Ha!    What  have  I  done?" 

"Why,  nothing  at  all,  Uncle  WilHam." 

"Then  why  do  you  want  to  insult  me?  Haven't 
I  been  your  slave  ever  since  I  came  here  ?  Haven't 
I  passed  sleepless  nights  devising  things  for  your 
good?  You  can't  deny  it,  and  yet,  at  the  first  op- 
portunity, you  turn  upon  me  with  an  insult." 

"Why,  Uncle  Billy,"  said  Florence,  "he  wouldn't 
insult  you.    He  was  only  joking." 

Howard  assured  him  that  he  meant  no  insult, 
whereupon  the  old  man  said :  "All  right,  but  I 
know  a  joke  as  well  as  anybody.  I  have  joked  with 
some  of  the  best  of  'em  in  my  time,  I'll  tell  you 
that.  But  it's  no  joke  when  you  come  talking  about 
not  hearing  a  man's  pipe.  It's  a  reflection  on  his 
cleanliness — it  means  that  his  pipe  is  stronger  than 


52  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

a  gentleman's  pipe  ought  to  be.  But  I  want  to  tell 
you,  sir,  that  it  isn't.    It's  as  sweet  as  a  pie." 

Howard  said  that  he  knew  the  import  of  such  an 
accusation.  "But,"  he  added,  "I  was  in  hopes  that 
it  was  strong,  not  to  cast  any  reflection,  you  under- 
stand, but  to  show  my  appreciation  of  what  you 
have  done  for  me.  I  was  going  to  give  you  that 
meerschaum  of  mine." 

The  old  man's  under  jaw  dropped.  "Hah  ?  Well, 
now,  I  do  believe  that  it  has  got  to  be  just  a  little 
nippy ;  just  a  little,  you  understand." 

"I  wish  it  were  stronger  than  that,  Uncle  Billy." 

"You  do?  Howard,  you  have  always  been  a 
good  friend  to  me ;  our  relations  have  been  most 
cordial  and  confidential,  and  I  don't  mind  telling 
you — to  go  no  further,  mind  you — that  niy  old  pipe 
is  as  strong  as — as  a  red  fox.  Yes,  sir,  it's  a  posi- 
tive fact.    Er — where  is  your  pipe?" 

"In  my  room.  You  may  go  and  get  it  as  soon 
as  you  like." 

"All  right,  and  I'm  a  thousand  times  obliged  to 
you.  Florence,  did  that  preacher  go  away  so  sud- 
denly last  night  because  I  settled  the  fact  that  it 
was  on  the  tenth  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  he  left  because  he  had  an  engagement." 

"Well,"  drawled  the  old  man,   "I  don't  know 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  53 

about  that.  Why,  confound  him,  I've  got  a  right  to 
settle  it  as  my  memory  dictates.  Does  he  think 
that  I'm  going  to  warp  my  recollection  just  for 

him?" 

''What  was  it  all  about,  Uncle  Billy?"  Howard 

asked. 

"About  a  story  I  was  going  to  tell." 

''Did  you  tell  it?" 

"Did  I  tell  it !  Well,  after  a  fashion ;  after  they 
had  badgered  me.  Then  I  made  a  mess  of  it.  How 
do  you  expect  me  to  tell  a  story  when— look  here, 
ain't  you  trying  to  put  it  on  me?  Hah,  ain't  you?" 
"I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  Uncle  WiUiam." 
"Oh,  you  don't.  The  whole  kit  of  you  are  devil- 
ish dull  all  at  once." 

"You  surely  don't  include  me,"  said  Florence. 
"No,  not  you,  Florence,  but  all  the  men  about 
the  house.  Why,  I  went  up  to  John,  just  a  while 
ago,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  he  didn't  snap  at  me  hke 
a  turtle— told  me  to  get  out  of  his  office.  Shall  I 
tell  vou  what  he  said?  He  said  that  last  night  he 
weni  to  hell  and  was  still  there.  There's  something 
wrong  with  him,  as  sure  as  you  live." 

Howard  turned  away  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room.  'There  it  is  again,"  said  he.  "I 
no  sooner  convince  myself  that  it  might  have  been 


54  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

a  mere  whim  when  something  comes  up  to  assure 
me  that  it  is  something  worse.  And  the  look  he 
gave  me,  Florence.  It  hurts  me."  He  walked  to- 
ward the  door.  Florence  asked  him  if  he  were  go- 
ing to  his  father.  He  turned  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment in  silence.  ''No,  I  am  going  down  town.  I 
don't  feel  right.  I  am  hurt.  But  don't. say  any- 
thing to  him,  please.  I  am  going  to  wait  and  see 
what  comes  of  it.  And  please  don't  say  anything 
to  mother."  He  took  his  leave,  and  Florence  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  after  him  as  he  passed 
down  the  street.  She  spoke  to  William.  ''I  won- 
der what  the  trouble  is,"  she  said. 

*'I  don't  know,"  WilHam  replied,  ruffling  his 
brow,  ''but  as  for  that  preacher — the  first  thing  he 
knows,  I  won't  let  him  come  here.  John  has  in- 
sisted on  his  dropping  in  at  any  time,  because  he 
used  to  know  his  father,  but  Fll  attend  to  that. 
Why  does  a  great,  strong  fellow  as.  he  is  want  to 
throw  away  his  time?  Why  doesn't  he  get  to 
work  ?"  He  sat  down  and,  looking  toward  the  piano, 
asked  Florence  to  play  something.  "Fd  like  a 
tune  quick  and  high-stepping,"  he  said.  She  told 
him  that  she  was  in  no  humor.  "In  that  event," 
he  insisted,  "you  might  play  the  Maiden's  Prayer." 

"Not  now.  Uncle  William.  Here's  Agnes. 
She'll  play  for  you." 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  55 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  Agnes,  coming  into  the  room. 
Florence  expected  the  old  fellow  to  snort  his  dis- 
pleasure at  so  flat  a  refusal,  but  he  did  not.  He 
bowed  to  her  and  said:  "Now,  that's  the  way  to 
talk.  I  like  to  have  a  woman  come  right  out  and 
say  what  she  means.  Well,"  he  added,  getting  up, 
"I  am  not  in  your  plot,  anyway,  so  I'll  bid  you 
good  morning." 

As  soon  as  William  was  gone,  Agnes  went  to 
the  piano,  seated  herself  on  the  stool  and  began 
to  ripple  on  the  keys.  "There  are  times  when  we 
feel  Hke  dabbling  in  water  but  don't  want  to  swim," 
she  said. 

"And  you  are  dabbling  now,"  Florence  spoke  up. 

"Only  dabbling.  Oh,  I  forgot ;  your  dressmaker 
is  out  there,  and  I  came  in  to  tell  you." 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't  forget  it  entirely.  Oh,  and 
I  must  tell  you  something.  Brother  says  that  Mr. 
Goyle  is  smitten  with  you." 

Agnes,  still  rippling,  turned  half  way  round, 
sniffed  and  turned  back.  "I  hate  him  so  hard  that 
it's  almost  second  cousin  to  love,"  she  declared. 

"Don't  let  it  be  any  closer  kin,  Agnes.  There  is 
always  danger  in  a  first  cousin." 

Agnes,    still    rippling,    sniffed    contemptuously. 


56  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"He's  been  following  me  around  all  the  morning. 
How  I  love  to  hate  him." 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  Elbridge  was  heard,  calling 
Florence,  who  answered  that  she  was  coming,  but 
she  halted  long  enough  to  say  to  Agnes,  mischiev- 
ously, that  she  might  learn  to  love  him  if  she  loved 
to  hate  him.  Both  love  and  hate  were  kindred  pas- 
sions, with  but  a  thin  partition  between  them.  As 
she  was  going  out,  Agnes  shouted  after  her  that, 
if  she  ever  loved  him  she  would  hate  herself,  and 
then,  just  as  Goyle  and  Bodney  entered  the  room, 
she  added:  "We  tar  and  feather  such  fellows  in 
Quincy." 

"You  do  what  in  Quincy?"  Bodney  asked. 

And  Agnes,  without  looking  round,  repeated: 
"Tar  and  feather  such  fellows." 

Goyle  knew  that  she  meant  him,  but  instead  of 
kindhng  resentment,  her  words  aroused  in  him  an 
additional  interest  in  her.  He  looked  at  her  as  in 
the  rythmic  sway  of  her  graceful  form,  the  nodding 
of  her  shapely  head,  she  kept  time  with  a  tune,  half 
remembered,  half  improvised ;  and,  turning  to  Bod- 
ney, he  asked  in  tones  too  low  for  the  girl  to  hear : 
"Has  she  got  any  money?" 

"I  think  she  has." 

"Leave  me  alone  with  her." 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  57 

"Do  you  want  to  snatch  her  purse?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I  want  a  hair  pin,  a  pearl  but- 
ton, a  scrap  of  verse,  and  a  three-cornered  piece 
of  silk  that  no  man  can  match?  I  mean,  has  she 
got  any  money  in  her  own  name?" 

"I  haven't  asked  her,  but  I  think  she  has." 

"Then  leave  me  alone  with  her." 

Bodney  stood  looking  at  him.  There  was  a  con- 
tinuous fascination  in  the  fellow's  affrontery.  "All 
right,"  he  said,  but  quickly  added :  "We've  got  to 
go  down  town,  you  know.  I'll  step  into  the  office 
and  wait  till  she  gets  through  with  you.  You  may 
hypnotize  me,  but — " 

Goyle  cut  him  off  with  a  gesture.  "Nonsense ! 
When  she  gets  through  with  me !  Cool,  coming 
from  a  man  whose  honor  I  have  saved  at  the  risk 
of  my  own.  But  no  cooler  than  the  bullet  you 
threatened  me  with." 

"I  wish  I  had  given  it  to  you,"  said  Bodney. 

"Do  you?  It's  not  too  late,  if  you  are  bent  on 
murder.  But  that's  all  right,"  he  broke  ofT,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand.    "Leave  me  alone  with  her." 

Bodney  went  out  and  Goyle  sat  down  on  a  sofa, 
gazed  at  the  girl,  cleared  his  throat,  coughed ;  but 
she  did  not  look  round.  "What  are  you  playing? 
May  I  ask?" 


58  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"You  have  asked,"  she  repHed,  without  looking 
round. 

''But  you  haven't  told  me." 

She  left  off  playing,  and  slowly  turned  on  the 
stool  to  face  him.  "A  tune  they  played  in  Quincy 
one  night,  when  they  tarred  and  feathered  a  man," 
she  said.  And  then,  with  a  smile  of  sweet  inno- 
cence, she  added:  ''You  were  never  in  Quincy, 
were  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  was  never  tarred  and  feathered  there." 

"Possibly  an  acknowledgment  that  you  were 
never  in  the  town.  Oh,  somebody  told  me  that  you 
were  once  connected  with  opera." 

"Then  somebody  flattered  me.  I  couldn't  sing 
in  a  chorus  of  scissors  grinders." 

"A  sort  of  Chinese  opera,  I  inferred,"  she  said. 

"Well,  that's  about  the  only  sort  I  could  sing  in. 
Chinese  opera,  eh?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  inferred.  It  was  something 
about  Sing-Sing.    Isn't  that  Chinese?" 

"Oh,  it  sounds  Hke  a  joke,"  said  he. 

"And  it  wasn't?"  she  asked,  in  surprise.  "Then 
it  was  serious  opera  instead  of  comic.  They  call 
serious  opera  grand,  I  believe.  And  is  that  the  rea- 
son they  call  larceny  grand — because  it  is  serious  ?" 

For  a  time  he  sat  in  a  deep  study  of  her.    How 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  59 

different  from  the  nervous  and  impressionable 
weakling  who  had  just  left  the  room  ;  and  in  looking 
at  her  he  felt  that  his  eyes  refused  to  glitter  with  a 
snake-like  charm;  they  were  dull  and  flat,  and  he 
drew  his  hand  across  them.  "Do  you  know  that  I 
Hke  you?"  he  said. 

'Then  I  do  not  bring  up  an  unpleasant  recollec- 
tion." 

''No,  a  beautiful  vision."  And  now  he  had  more 
confidence  in  his  eyes,  for  he  got  up  and  moved 
toward  her.  She  slipped  off  the  stool  and  stood 
looking  at  him. 

''Won't  you  play  something  for  me?"  he  asked. 
"I  don't  want  to  play.    I  don't  feel  like  it." 
"Let  your  fingers  dream  over  the  keys." 
"My  hands  aren't  asleep."     She  moved  oft'  from 
him. 

"You  aren't  afraid  of  me,  are  you?" 
She  looked  him  in  the  eye.     "My  grandmother 
killed  a  panther,"  she  said. 

He  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes ;  he  recalled 
what  Bodney  had  said — about  her  getting  through 
with  him.  In  the  dictionary  of  slang  there  is  a  word 
to  fit  him :  the  resources  of  his  "gall"  were  bound- 
less. "Why  don't  you  like  me?"  he  asked.  "Am 
I  ugly  in  your  sight  ?    Do  I  look  like  a  villain  ?" 


60  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"If  you  looked  more  like  a  villain  you'd  be  less 
dangerous." 

"That's  cruel.  We  may  not  see  each  other  again. 
Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me  ?" 

"What  is  the  use  of  shaking  hands  with  a  stranger 
we  are  never  to  see  again,"  she  said. 

"But  if  we  shake  hands,"  he  persisted,  "we  may 
not  be  strangers." 

"No?    Then,  we'll  not  shake." 

William  strolled  through  the  room,  halting  just 
long  enough  to  assure  them  that  he  was  not  trying 
to  break  into  the  plot.  "He's  a  queer  duck,"  said 
Goyle. 

"I  wish  there  were  more  of  his  feather,"  she  re- 
plied.   "He  can  pass  through  without  stopping." 

"And  so  could  I  but  for  you,"  he  rejoined. 

She  snapped  her  eyes  at  him.  "What  nerve  tonic 
do  you  take?" 

"Nature's.  She  gives  me  a  tonic  whenever  I  look 
at  you." 

She  laughed  at  this,  and  she  said :  "I  am  woman 
enough  to  like  that  sort  of  talk,  but  I  don't  like 
you." 

"You  like  my  talk,  but  don't  like  me.  Why  this 
discrepancy?    Why  don't  you  like  me?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.    You  give  me  the  creeps." 


STOOD  LOOKING  AT  THEM.  61 

"You  are  very  frank." 

''Oh,  the  creeps  would  make  anybody  frank." 

Bodney  appeared  at  the  door  and  cleared  his 
throat  to  attract  attention,  and  he  was  bold  enough 
to  ask  her  if  she  had  got  through  with  him.  "Long 
ago,"  she  answered.  ''And  now  you  may  have 
him." 

Goyle  bowed  to  her.  "Mr.  Bodney  and  I  may 
go  out  of  town  for  a  day  or  two — or,  at  least,  I 
may.  Will  you  permit  me  to  hope  to  see  you  upon 
my  return?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  she  said,  and  he  felt  that  at  last 
he  was  making  some  sort  of  progress.  "I  thank 
you,"  he  replied. 

But  there  was  something  more  to  follow.  "You 
can  hope  that  you  may,  and  I  will  hope  that  you 
may  not,"  she  said. 

Goyle  bowed,  and  looked  at  her,  admiringly. 
"Miss  Needle-tongue,"  he  said.     "But  you  catch 

me." 

Bodney  told  him  to  come  on,  but  he  lingered  a 
moment  longer.  "May  I  tell  you  good-bye?"  he 
said,  and  she  replied  that  she  hoped  so.  As  the  two 
men  were  going  out  the  Judge  came  in.  Goyle 
glanced  at  him,  but  Bodney  averted  his  eyes.  The 
old  man's  face  smote  him  with  reproach. 


62  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SHE  SAID  THAT  SHE  WAS  STRONG. 

Agnes,  accustomed  to  joke  with  the  Judge,  now 
looked  at  him  in  astonishment ;  his  face  was  hag- 
gard and  his  eyes  appeared  hot  with  suffering.  But 
he  had  not  forgotten  his  dignified  courtesy.  He 
bowed  to  her,  bade  her  good  morning,  as  if  he  had 
not  seen  her  earHer  in  the  day,  said  that  he  was 
looking  for  Florence,  and  asked  if  she  would  please 
find  her,  that  he  desired  to  see  her — alone.  Agnes 
went  out  at  once  to  find  Florence,  wondering  what 
could  have  happened  to  throw  so  serious  a  cast 
upon  the  countenance  of  the  Judge ;  and,  left  alone, 
the  old  man  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  room, 
talking  to  himself.  ''I  don't  know  how  to  tell  her, 
but  she  must  know  of  it.  It  is  my  duty  to  tell  her." 
He  paused,  looked  toward  the  door,  and  continued : 
"I  am  striving  to  master  my  heart  by  smothering 
it ;  I  must  be  the  master  of  a  dead  heart."  He 
paused  again  and  resumed  his  walk.  "Yesterday 
the  world  was  a  laugh,  but  today  it  is  a  groan.    I 


SHE  SAID  THAT  SHE  WAS  STRONG.         63 

wonder  if  he  saw  me.  No,  and  toward  him  I  must 
bear  the  burden  of  silence.  A  mother's  heart  would 
see  the  accusation  in  his  face,  and  I  must  protect 
her.  To  keep  her  shielded  is  now  my  only  duty 
in  life.  That  decadent  book !  It  was  a  seed  of  de- 
generacy. Ah,  come  in,"  he  said,  as  Florence  ap- 
peared at  the  door.  Howard  had  called  her  eyes  the 
searchlights  of  sym.pathy ;  and  she  turned  those 
lights  upon  the  old  man's  face  as  she  came  into  the 
room,  slowly  approaching  him. 

''Did  you  send  for  me — father?" 

"Father,"  he  repeated  with  a  catch  in  his  breath 
that  sounded  like  a  sob.  "My  dear,  it  comes  sweet 
from  your  lips,  but  it  falls  upon  me  with  reproach." 
He  stood  with  bowed  head,  and  Florence  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"What  is  the  matter,  father?  Why,  you  need 
a  doctor.    Let  me  call — " 

"No !"  came  from  him  like  a  cry  of  pain,  as  he 
stepped  back  from  her.  "You  must  call  no  one. 
Wait  a  moment.  Oh,  I've  got  iron  in  me — but  it  is 
cold,  Florence — cold.    Wait  a  moment.    Wait." 

She  stood  looking  at  him,  wondering,  striving  to 
catch  some  possible  forecast  of  what  might  follow, 
but  in  his  face  there  was  no  light  save  the  dull  hue 
of  agony.     Gradually  he  became  calmer,  and  then 


64  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

he  said:    ''I  am  going  to  tell  you  something;   it  is 
my  duty." 

''Yes,  sir,  I  am  listening." 

''But  are  you  strong  enough  to  hear  what  I  have 
to  say?" 

"Does  it  take  strength  to  hear?" 

"In  your  case — yes." 

"Then  I  am  strong."  She  moved  closer  and 
stood  resolutely  before  him,  looking  into  his  eyes. 

"Florence,  I  know  your  character;  I  know  that 
your  word  is  too  sacred  to  break,  but  this  is — is  an 
unparalleled  case,  and  you  must  be  put  under  oath." 

"Judge,  instead  of  administering  an  oath,  you 
ought  to  take  medicine.  Why,  I  never  saw  you 
this  way  before." 

She  was  about  to  turn  away  from  him,  but  he 
took  her  by  the  arm.  "Look  at  me.  You  never 
saw  me  this  way  before.  No.  In  all  my  experience 
I  have  never  heard  of  a  man  being  so  situated.  I 
am  a  novelty  of  distress.  And  you  must  know  what 
my  ailment  is,  but  you  must  take  an  oath,  a  sacred 
oath,  not  to  speak  of  it  to  any  human  being." 

"But  if  it  is  so  awful,  why  should  I  know  it?  Tell 
it  to  a  physician." 

"It  is  my  duty  to  tell  it  to  one  human  being,  and 
you  are  the  one." 


SHE  SAID  THAT  SHE  WAS  STRONG.         65 

'Then  I  will  take  the  oath." 

''Hold  up  your  right  hand."  She  obeyed  him. 
"You  swear  never  to  repeat  what  I  tell  you." 

"Yes,  I  swear." 

"By  the  memory  of  your  mother?" 

"Yes,  by  the  memory  of  my  mother." 

"And  you  hope  that  the  Eternal  God  may  frown 
upon  you  if  you  do  not  keep  your  oath  ?" 

"Judge,  this  is  awful." 

"Are  you  going  to  back  out  now?  Are  you 
afraid?" 

"I  am  not  afraid.  I  hope  that  the  Eternal  God 
may  frown  upon  me  if  I  do  not  keep  my  oath." 

He  took  her  hand,  the  hand  held  high,  and  said 
to  her,  '*You  will  keep  your  oath.  It  was  disagree- 
able to  take  it,  but  the  measure  was  necessary.  And 
now  comes  the  agonizing  part  of  my  duty— and  I 
wish  I  had  died  before  being  compelled  to  dis- 
charge it.    Florence,  you  know  that  I  love  you." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know  it — could  never  have  doubted 
it.  But  why  do  you  speak  of  it?  What  has  it  to 
do  with — " 

"Wait.  This  shall  be  explained.  You  must  not 
marry  my  son." 

She  stepped  back  from  him  and  from  her  clear 
6 


66  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

eyes,  always  so  sympathetic,  there  came  a  flash  of 
anger.    "You  are  mad,  Judge,"  she  said. 

"I  grant  it.  He  drove  me  mad — he  sent  me  to 
hell." 

"And  you  would  drag  me  there." 

"I  would  save  you.  It  is  a  duty  I  owe  to  the 
memory  of  your  father  and  to  my  own  love  for  you. 
Yes,  it  is  my  duty." 

"And  it  is  my  duty,"  she  said,  with  now  the  Hght 
of  sympathy  in  her  eyes,  "to  send  for  a  doctor." 

"Wait.  You  have  not  heard.  Remember  you 
have  sworn." 

"Yes,  and  I  will  keep  my  oath.  No,  I  have  not 
heard.  You  have  told  me  nothing.  You  have 
simply  been  mad  enough  to  say  that  we  must  not 
marry."  The  sympathy  had  gone  from  her  eyes. 
"You  must  know  that  Howard  and  I  have 
all  our  lives  Hved  for  each  other.  I  owe 
you  nearly  everything,  I  would  make  al- 
most any  sacrifice  for  you,  but  when  you 
even  intimate — but  I  will  not  reproach  you," 
she  said,  softening  again.  "You  have  not  told  me 
why,"  she  added,  looking  into  his  eyes. 

"My  child,  it  would  break  your  heart." 

She  straightened  and  put  her  hand  upon  her 
bosom.    "I  offer  my  heart.    Break  it." 


SHE  SAID  THAT  SHE  WAS  STRONG.  67 

"Florence,  my  son  Howard  is  a  thief." 

She  snatched  her  hand  from  her  bosom  and 
raised  it  as  if  to  strike  him,  but  one  look  of  agony 
from  his  eyes,  and  her  hand  fell.  "]udgQ,  how  can 
you  say  such  a  thing  ?  Something  has  tripped  your 
mind,  but  how  could  it  fall  so  low?" 

''My  mind  has  not  been  tripped.  It  is  as  firm  as  a 
rock.  And  you  cannot  doubt  my  word.  Last 
night  I  saw  him  steaHng  money  from  the  safe,  as 
if  I  had  not  always  supplied  all  his  wants,  and  at 
an  alarm  which  I  had  fixed,  little  dreaming  who 
the  thief  might  be,  he  ran  away — a  thief.  You 
cannot  doubt  my  word." 

Stern  of  countenance  and  with  her  eyes  piercing 
him,  regal  as  the  barbaric  queens  we  find  in  an- 
cient fiction,  she  stood,  and  the  moment  of  her 
silence  seemed  an  age  to  him.  "I  pity  your  word 
and  I  doubt  your  eyes." 

"You  may  pretend  to,  but  you  cannot  in  your 
heart.  You  must  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  saw 
him." 

"You  saw  a  vision.    Your  eyes  have  lied  to  you." 

"I  saw  no  vision.  My  eyes  told  a  heart-breaking 
truth.     Florence,  would  you  marry  a  thief?" 

"Sir,  I  would  marry  Howard  if  I  knew  that  he 
had  stolen  a  hammer  to  nail  a  god  to  the  cross." 


68  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

The  old  man  wheeled  away  from  her  with  a  cry. 
"Oh,  crumbled  hope — " 

Mrs.  Elbridge  swept  into  the  room,  gazing  at 
the  Judge.    "Why,  what  is  the  matter?" 

The  old  man  gripped  himself  together.  "Why,  I 
— I  have  just  received  a  dispatch,  telling  me — tell- 
ing me  that  my  brother  Henry  is  dead.  Don't  tell 
William — brother  Henry  is  dead." 

Mrs.  Elbridge  went  to  him  and  put  her  arm  about 
him.  "And  you  loved  him  so,"  she  said.  "Poor, 
dear  man,  but  we  must  bow  to  it,  and  pray  for 
consolation.  Don't — don't  grieve  so,  dear.  Where 
is  the  message?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  Florence.  "It  distressed 
him  so  that  I  tore  it  to  pieces  and  threw  it  away," 
she  said. 

The  Judge  gave  her  a  grateful  look.  "I  thank 
you,"  he  muttered. 


THE  WEXTOX   CLUB.  69 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE   WEXTON    CLUB. 


When  Goyle  and  Bodney  left  the  house  they  went 
to  a  place  known  as  the  Wexton  Club.  This  in- 
stitution was  not  incorporated  under  the  laws  of 
the  state,  but  its  afifairs  were  conducted  under  a  law, 
the  law  that  governs  the  game  of  poker.  The  pub- 
lic dinner  pail  gaming  house,  the  pickpocket  of  the 
laborer,  had  been  closed ;  the  grave-countenanced 
faro  dealer  and  the  sad-eyed  man  who  turned  the 
roulette  wheel ;  the  hoarse-voiced  "hazard"  operator, 
and  the  nimble  and  enterprising  thief  of  the  "stud 
poker"  game,  now  thrown  out  of  visible  employ- 
ment, stood  at  the  mouth  of  the  alley  waiting  for 
"good  times"  to  return.  "Bucket-shops"  broke 
out  in  new  places,  once  in  a  while,  and  there  was 
the  occasional  raid  of  a  poolroom,  but  it  was  agreed 
that  public  gambling  was  a  thing  of  the  rough  and 
disgraceful  past.  But  the  poker  clubs !  They  were 
not  traps  set  for  the  man  in  overalls.  His  pennies 
and   dimes  were  not   solicited.      Of  course,   if   he 


70  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

saved  up  capital  to  the  amount  of  five  dollars,  and 
came  with  a  reasonable  appearance  of  respectability, 
he  could  get  into  the  game,  but  he  was  not  wanted. 
The  board  of  trade  men,  the  race  horse  man,  the 
merchant,  doctor,  lawyer,  and  particularly  the  fool 
with  money,  furnished  the  life  blood  of  the  enter- 
prise. Shrewd  gamblers  risked  their  money  and 
pronounced  the  game  "straight."  And  it  was 
''straight."  The  "house"  could  not  afford  to  permit 
any  "crooked"  work.  Its  success,  the  "rake  off," 
depended  upon  its  own  fairness  to  everyone  play- 
ing in  the  game.  But  the  "sucker"  does  not  need 
to  be  cheated  to  lose.  His  own  impulses  will  sooner 
or  later  rob  him  of  all  the  money  he  can  borrow, 
beg  or  steal.  The  man  who  plays  for  recreation 
wants  it,  not  after  a  long  season  of  waiting  for  a 
good  hand,  but  at  once ;  and  putting  in  his  money 
he  draws  to  "short"  pairs  or  to  every  four  straight 
or  four  flush.  He  may  have  an  encouraging  spurt ; 
he  may  make  a  hardened  player  wince  and  swear 
under  his  breath  or  even  above  it,  but  in  the  end, 
and  it  comes  on  apace,  he  shoves  it  back,  broke,  and 
the  old-timer  rakes  in  the  money.  Within  recent 
years  several  fine  young  fellows  of  good  standing 
and  of  bright  prospects  have  looked  for  diversion  in 
poker  and  have  found  state's  prison.  The  road  to 
the  penitentiary  is  paved  with  four  flushes. 


THE  WEXTON  CLUB.  71 

At  the  Wexton,  Goyle  had  introduced  Bodney  as 
his  friend,  ]\Ir.  Ramage,  and  out  of  that  famiharity 
which  comes  of  constantly  gazing  into  a  man's 
countenance,  in  the  effort  to  determine  what  he 
holds  in  his  hand,  they  shortened  his  name  to  Ram. 
The  young  lawyer  had  played  with  friends,  and  had 
won,  not  because  his  friends  were  kind  to  him,  but 
because  they  were  as  experimental  in  drawing  cards 
as  himself,  and  because  they  were  possessed  of 
equally  as  much  curiosity.  The  "gentleman's  game" 
is  a  trap  door,  and  it  is  easy  enough  to  fall  from 
''Billy"  and  "George"  and  "Tom,"  down  into  a  hell 
on  earth.  This  is  not  a  tirade  against  gambling, 
for  the  horrors  of  that  vice  have  engaged  the  ablest 
of  pens,  but  to  give  life  in  poker  clubs  as  it  really 
exists,  the  attractive  with  the  distressful.  Indeed, 
the  distress  is  not  seen  in  the  club.  The  victim  gets 
up  with  a  jocular  remark,  and  silently  goes  out, 
wishing  that  he  were  dead,  and  resolving  deep 
within  his  disconsolate  heart  that  he  will  never  enter 
the  place  again.  Then  his  heart  lightens.  He  is 
saved.  He  has  lost  money  that  he  could  not  afiford 
to  lose,  the  very  bread  of  his  family ;  but  he  will  do 
so  no  more.  He  has  strength  of  purpose,  an  object 
in  life,  a  position  to  maintain.  He  is  now  grateful  to 
himself  for  his  own  strength  of  will.     The  next 


72  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

morning  he  goes  dull  and  heavy  to  his  business. 
He  shudders  as  he  enumerates  the  amount  of  money 
that  he  has  lost  within  the  past  few  weeks ;  counts 
it  all  up,  and  then,  with  a  sickening  pang,  recurs 
a  forgotten  sum,  borrowed  from  a  friend  and  not 
yet  returned,  though  he  had  promised  to  ''hand"  it 
back  the  next  day.  The  details  of  his  business  are 
wearisome.  At  noon  he  goes  out.  At  the  ''Club" 
they  serve  a  meal,  better  than  he  can  get  at  a  res- 
taurant. He  will  go  there,  but  not  to  play.  He 
plays,  to  get  even — will  try  it  once  more;  and  at 
evening  he  sends  a  message  to  his  wife — "detained 
on  important  business."  He  has  several  checks, 
and  one  by  one  they  melt  away  in  the  pot.  He  is 
broke.  He  wants  more  chips.  He  has  money  in 
the  bank,  he  declares;  but  the  man  at  the  desk  is 
sorry  to  inform  him  that  it  is  a  rule  of  the  "house" 
not  to  take  personal  checks.  He  is  angry,  of  course. 
He  wants  to  know  why  a  check  which  he  offered 
earlier  in  the  evening  was  accepted,  and  is  told 
that  the  other  check  was  different,  that  it  was  signed 
by  a  name  better  known  than  his.  Then  he  tries  to 
borrow  from  the  men  who  have  won  his  money; 
he  knows  them  well,  for  he  has  played  with  them 
day  after  day.  They  have  laughed  at  his  jokes, 
when  with  the  fool's  luck  he  has  drawn  to  "short" 


THE  WEXTON  CLUB.  73 

pairs  and  won.  They  have  no  money  to  lend — 
would  really  like  to  accommodate  him,  but  have 
obligations  to  meet.  And  so  he  goes  heavily  down 
the  stairs  again,  with  murder  in  his  heart.  But  his 
heart  lightens  after  a  time.  He  will  never,  so  help 
him  God,  play  again.  But  he  does.  Ah,  it  is  less 
bad  to  be  bitten  by  a  mad  dog. 

Goyle  was  but  an  indifferent  player.  He  well 
knew  the  value  of  a  hand,  but  was  too  impatient  to 
wait.  But  no  despair  fell  upon  him  when  he  lost. 
He  did  not  look  forward  to  a  time  when  circum- 
stances or  the  force  of  his  own  resolution  might 
set  him  beyond  the  temptations  of  the  game,  but 
to  the  time  when  luck  might  give  him  enough 
money  to  put  him  in  the  game.  Bodney,  however, 
was  bound  soul  and  body.  He  could  hardly  think  of 
anything  else.  Dozing  to  sleep  he  saw  aces  and 
kings ;  asleep,  he  drew  to  flushes  and  straights.  In 
his  sleep  he  might  win,  but  only  in  his  sleep.  His 
soul  seemed  to  have  been  created  for  this  one 
debasing  passion.  It  was  his  first,  for  though  im- 
pressionable, no  enthusiasm  had  ever  mastered  him, 
and  love  had  never  set  his  heart  aflame.  But  now 
he  was  an  embodiment  of  raging  poker,  not  for 
gain,  but  for  the  thrill,  the  drunkenness  of  play- 
ing.   His  bank  account,  never  large,  was  gone.    For 


74  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

himself  and  for  Goyle  he  had  taken  small  sums  of 
money  from  the  Judge's  safe,  and  had  lived  in  the 
terror  of  being  confronted  with  the  theft.  And  he 
actually  believed  that  had  the  old  man  accused 
him  or  even  strongly  suspected  him  he  would  have 
killed  himself.  Suspicion  was  now  averted,  but  at 
the  cost  of  what  infamy !  He  could  face  Howard ; 
he  could  endure  with  a  show  of  self-control  the 
agonized  countenance  of  the  old  man ;  but  remorse 
gnawed  him  like  a  rat.  It  was  not  to  be  supposed 
that  Florence  would  be  enlightened  as  to  the  cool- 
ness which,  of  necessity,  must  fall  between  Howard 
and  the  Judge,  but  it  could  not  be  otherwise  than  a 
grief  to  her.  He  could  look  forward  and  see  the 
wonder  in  her  eyes,  and  then  the  sorrow  that  must 
come  to  her.  It  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  a 
weak  man  to  have  a  strong  conscience,  a  con- 
science with  not  enough  of  forecast  to  prevent  a 
crime,  but  one  which  agonizes  when  a  crime  has 
been  committed.  His  only  solace  was  to  play. 
Then  his  mind  was  chained  to  the  game,  the  deal- 
ing of  the  cards,  the  scanning  of  his  hand,  to  the 
thrill  of  winning,  the  dull  oppression  of  losing. 
Upon  entering  the  club  he  had  been  surprised  to 
see  so  many  old  and  venerable  looking  men  sitting 
about  the  tables.    One  had  been  a  prominent  law- 


THE  WEXTON  CLUB.  75 

yer ;  another,  a  doctor,  had  turned  from  a  fine  prac- 
tice to  waste  his  substance  and  the  remainder  of  his 
days.  There  was  good  humor,  an  occasional  story 
of  brightness  and  color,  but  upon  the  whole  the 
place  was  sad,  everyone  seeming  to  recognize  that 
he  was  a  hopeless  slave  The  scholar  turned  poker- 
player,  thinks  and  talks  poker.  He  forgets  his 
grammer,  and  puts  everything  in  the  present  tense. 
"How  did  you  come  out  last  night  ?"  someone  asks, 
and  he  answers,  "I  lose."  Many  of  those  men 
would  not  have  gone  to  a  ''regular"  gaming  house ; 
they  would  not  have  played  faro  or  roulette,  but 
the  blight  of  poker  fell  upon  them,  to  Vv^eaken  them 
morally,  to  make  them  liars.  Sometimes  an  old 
fellow,  getting  up  broke,  would  turn  moralist.  One 
said  to  Bodney:  'The  chips  you  see  on  the  table 
don't  belong  to  anyone.  You  may  go  so  far  as  to 
cash  them  and  put  the  money  into  your  pocket,  but 
it  isn't  yours.  You  may  spend  it,  but  you  will  bor- 
row or  steal  to  make  it  good  to  the  game."  Among 
those  daily  associates  engaged  in  the  enterprise  of 
''wolfing"  one  another  there  was  a  fine  shade  of 
courtesy.  No  one  can  be  politer  or  more  genial 
than  a  winner,  and  a  loser  is  expected  to  shove  over 
the  pot  which  he  has  just  lost,  in  case  the  winner 
cannot  reach  it.    In  return  for  this  the  loser  is  per- 


76  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

mitted  to  swear  at  his  victor,  but  etiquette  demands 
that  it  shall  be  done  in  a  mumble,  as  if  he  were 
talking  to  himself.  The  winner  can  stand  a  great 
deal  of  abuse.  Jn  the  game  there  were  usually  two 
or  more  players  put  in  by  the  "house,"  cool  fel- 
lows, educated  to  know  the  value  of  a  hand  or  the 
advantage  of  a  position.  They  were  the  "regulars," 
the  others  the  militia.  The  dash  and  the  fire  of  the 
militiaman  sometimes  overrode  the  regular,  but 
there  was  no  question  as  to  the  ultimate  result. 
The  regular  knew  when  to  put  down  a  bad  hand ; 
he  could  be  "bluffed"  by  the  militiaman.  But  he 
could  afford  to  wait ;  he  was  paid  to  sit  there ;  it 
was  his  business.  Bodney,  however,  could  not  wait. 
With  him,  impulsive  hope  was  leaping  from  deal  to 
deal,  from  card  to  card,  from  spot  to  spot. 

When  Goyle  and  Bodney  arrived  the  members 
of  this  family  of  interchangeable  robbery  were 
ranged  at  a  long  table  in  the  dining  room,  eating 
in  hurried  silence  or  talking  about  the  game.  Oc- 
casionally someone  would  venture  an  opinion  of  a 
race  horse  or  a  prize  fighter,  but  for  the  most  part 
the  meal  was  solemn  and  dull.  Laughter  was  not 
unknown,  but  it  was  short,  like  a  bark.  This  does 
not  mean  that  there  w^as  a  want  of  fellowship  in  the 
club,  but  eating  was  looked  upon  as  a  necessary  in- 
terruption. 


THE  WEXTON  CLUB.  77 

''You  are  just  in  time,"  said  the  proprietor  of  the 
house,  not  a  bad  fellow,  a  business  man,  accom- 
modating as  far  as  he  could  be,  yielding  sometimes 
to  the  almost  tearful  importunity  of  a  fool  to  the 
extent  of  lending  him  money  never  to  be  returned. 
"Sit  down.     Fine  weather  we're  having." 

"A  champagne  "day,"  said  Goyle,  sitting  down 
and  spreading  a  napkin  across  his  knees.  "How's 
the  game  going?'' 

*'0h,  fairly  well.  We've  got  a  good  run  of  cus- 
tomers. They  know  that  they  are  perfectly  safe 
here." 

"What's  become  of  that  fellow  they  called  Shad  ?" 
asked  a  man  at  the  end  of  the  table. 

*'0h,  that  fellow  from  Kansas  City?  He's  gone. 
I  didn't  want  him.     I  think  he'd  snatch  a  card." 

Bodney  was  silent.  He  could  hear  the  rat  gnaw- 
ing at  his  conscience,  and  he  yearned  for  the  moral 
oblivion  of  the  game.  Leaving  Goyle  at  the  table, 
he  arose,  and  walked  up  and  down,  then  went  into 
the  room  where  the  game  was  forming.  He  had  but 
fifteen  dollars,  but  with  this  amount  he  felt  that  he 
could  win.  He  bought  ten  dollars  worth  of  chips, 
musing  upon  the  fact  that  he  had  a  reserve  fund  of 
five  dollars.  The  game  was  all  jackpots,  twenty-five 
cent  ante,  and  three  dollar  limit,  except  when  the 


78  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

pot  was  doubled,  and  then  the  Hmit  was  five  dollars. 
While  a  man  at  his  side  was  shuffling  a  deck  of  new 
cards,  Bodney  began  to  meditate  upon  the  policy 
which  he  intended  to  pursue.  He  would  not  draw 
to  a  flush  or  straight  except  when  there  were  several 
"stayers,"  for  then  the  percentage  would  warrant 
the  risk.  He  would  not  draw  to  a  pair  below  kings, 
nor  open  on  jacks  next  to  the  dealer.  If  the  pot 
were  opened  and  came  around  to  him,  even  with- 
out a  raise,  he  would  not  stay  on  a  pair  of  queens. 
If  he  opened  on  one  pair  and  was  raised,  he  would 
lie  down.  He  would  not  stand  a  raise  under  kings 
up.  Goyle  came  in,  bought  twenty  dollars  worth 
of  chips,  and  took  a  seat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table;  and  the  game  proceeded,  with  seven  play- 
ers. Bodney  opened  on  a  pair  of  kings.  All  passed 
around  to  Goyle.  He  looked  at  his  hand  a  moment, 
and  said:  "Only  one  in?  Well,  I've  got  to  stay. 
Give  me  that  one,"  he  said  to  the  dealer,  meaning 
that  he  wanted  one  card.  "Got  two  little  pairs  here, 
and  I  won't  raise  you  unless  I  help."  Bodney  drew 
three  cards  and  did  not  help  his  kings.  He  bet  a 
white  chip.  "Now  I'll  go  down  and  look,"  said 
Goyle.  "Bet  you  three  dollars,"  he  added.  Bodney 
was  smoking.  He  pufifed  at  his  cigar.  "I  don't 
know  about  that,"  he  said.  "What  do  you  want  to 
raise  me  for  ?" 


THE  WEXTON  CLUB.  79 

"Got  to  play  my  hand,  haven't  I?"  Goyle  repHed. 

Bodney  put  his  cigar  on  the  table  and  thought. 
"Well,  you've  got  'em  or  you  haven't.  I'll  call  you." 
He  threw  in  three  blue  chips,  and  Goyle  spread  a 
Hush.  'Thought  you  said  you  had  two  little  pairs," 
said  Bodney,  as  Goyle  raked  in  the  pot. 

''I  hadn't  looked  at  my  hand  very  close." 

*'You  knew  what  you  had  all  the  time.  Stayed 
on  a  four  flush  with  only  one  man  in.  Of  course 
you  can  always  make  it  against  me." 

The  deal  went  round  and  round,  and  occasionally 
Bodney  won  a  pot,  once  a  large  one,  and  now  as  he 
stacked  up  his  chips  he  felt  at  peace  with  the  world. 
He  laughed  and  joked  with  a  man  whom  he  had 
never  met  before ;  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  lose. 
He  threw  ofif  the  rigor  of  his  resolution,  and  drew  to 
a  pair  of  sixes,  caught  the  third,  raised  the  opener 
three  dollars,  and  won  the  pot  against  aces  up. 
Then  his  senses  floated  in  a  limpid  pool  of  delight. 
Goyle  opened  a  pot.  Bodney  raised  him,  having 
kings  up.  "I've  got  to  stay,"  said  Goyle.  "Give  me 
one  card."  Godney  drew  one  and  made  a  king  full. 
His  heart  leaped  with  joy.  "What  do  you  do?"  he 
asked. 

"Bet  three  dollars,"  said  Goyle,  putting  in  the 


80  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

chips,  and  Bodney  was  almost  smothered  in  exul- 
tation. 

"I  raise  you  three." 

''Raise  you  three,"  said  Goyle. 

"Are  you  as  strong  as  that?"  Bodney  remarked, 
striving  to  hide  the  delight  that  was  shooting 
through  him.    "Well,  I'll  have  to  raise  you  three." 

Goyle  began  to  study.  "Well,  if  you  can  beat  a 
jack  full,  take  the  money."  He  put  in  his  three 
dollars.  "King  full,"  said  Bodney,  and  Goyle  threw 
down  his  cards  with  an  oath.  "Of  course  you 
couldn't  make  that  against  anybody  but  me.  It's 
what  a  man  gets  for  not  playing  his  hand  before  the 
draw.  I  ought  to  have  raised  you  back.  Had  three 
jacks  all  the  time.    But  I  didn't  want  to  beat  you." 

"Looked  like  it  when  you  made  that  flush." 

"That's  ancient  history." 

Bodney  did  not  reply.  He  was  behind  a  bulwark 
of  chips,  and  his  heart  beat  high.  He  began  to  tell 
a  story.  The  winners  were  interested  ;  the  losers  did 
not  hear  it.  In  the  midst  of  the  story,  just  below 
the  climax,  he  had  a  hand  beaten  for  six  dollars,  and 
the  story,  thus  broken,  fell  into  silence. 

"What  was  that  story  you  were  going  to  tell?" 

"It  didn't  amount  to  anything,"  said  Bodney,  but 
not  long  afterward  he  won  a  ten  dollar  pot,  found 


THE  WEXTON  CLUB.  81 

the  fragments  of  the  story,  lying  at  the  bottom  of 
silence,  and  gave  them  voice.  The  winners  laughed  ; 
the  losers  did  not  hear  it. 

A  minute  legitimately  employed  may  seem  an 
hour;    an  hour  at  a  poker  table  may  be  but  a 

minute. 

Someone  asked  the  time.  Bodney  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  said  that  it  was  five  o'clock.  He  was 
nearly  seventy  dollars  ahead,  with  the  reserve  fund 
still  in  his  pocket,  and  was  resolved  to  quit  very 
soon.  Just  then  Goyle  emerged  from  a  contest, 
broke.  "Let  me  take  ten,"  said  he.  Bodney  hesi- 
tated a  moment.    ''Say,  I've  got  to  pay  for—" 

''Oh,  I'll  give  it  to  you  tomorrow.    Let  me  take 

ten." 

He  passed  over  the  chips,  but  with  a  feeling  of 
depression.  "I  may  be  broke  pretty  soon,"  said  he. 
"And  I  can't  let  you  have  any  more." 

"Broke  pretty  soon !  Why,  you're  even  on  your 
whole  life.    You  got  all  my  money." 

"I  haven't  won  as  much  from  you  as  you  have 

from  nae." 

'That's  all  right.     My  day  may  come." 
Bodney  Vv^as  determined  to  play  no  longer  than 
dinner  time.    Then  he  would  cash  in.    Goyle's  stack 
grew  to  the  am.ount  of  thirty  dollars.    Bodney  was 


82  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

glad  to  see  it  grow;  ten  dollars  of  it  belonged  to 
him.  He  did  not  care  for  ten  dollars ;  he  had  loaned 
Goyle  ten  times  ten,  and  did  not  expect  to  recover 
the  sum,  but  chips  were  different,  and  especially 
now  that  they  fed  his  passion  and  dulled  his  con- 
science. Goyle  got  up.  ''Let  me  have  that  ten  till 
tomorrow,"  said  he,  and  Bodney  did  not  say  any- 
thing, but  his  spirits  felt  a  sudden  weight.  He  was 
pleased,  however,  when  Goyle  went  out,  for  there 
were  to  be  no  more  raids  upon  his  stack.  Dinner 
was  announced.  He  motioned  to  an  attendant  upon 
the  game,  and  his  chips  were  taken  over  to  the  desk. 
"Going  to  quit  us?"  a  man  asked. 
"Yes.  This  is  the  first  time  I've  won,"  he  added, 
by  way  of  apology. 

"Have  dinner  before  you  go,"  said  the  proprietor, 
coming  forward. 

"I  don't  know  that  I've  got  the  time." 
"Just  as  well.  You've  got  to  eat  anyway." 
He  went  out  to  dinner,  and  was  permitted  to  be 
vivacious.  An  old  fellow,  sitting  on  his  right,  re- 
marked: "I'm  glad  to  see  you  win."  Others  said 
that  they  were  glad  to  see  him  win.  It  was  surely  a 
very  genial  company. 


WENT  OUT  TO  "DIG." 


83 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WENT  OUT  TO  "dIG." 

After  dinner,  when  the  game  was  reorganized, 
Bodney  looked  on  for  a  few  moments,  still  alive 
to  the  keen  pleasure  of  winning ;  and  just  as  he  was 
atout  to  go  out,  a  thought  struck  him.    What  was 
the  use  of  quitting  now  that  he  had  luck  ?    He  had 
waited  for  it  a  long  time,  and  now  that  it  had  ar- 
rived he  was  going  to  throw  it  away.    He  might  just 
as  well  win  a  hundred  and  seventy  as  seventy.    He 
could  at  least  try  ten  dollars,  and  quit  if  he  found 
that  fortune  was  against  him.    There  was  one  vacant 
seat  and  he  took  it.     Ten  dollars    and  not  a  cent 
more.      That    would    leave    sixty    to    the    good, 
enough  to  play  on  for  a  long  time.    So  he  bought 
ten  dollars  worth  of  chips  and  was  again  forgetful 
of  the  Judge,  of  Howard,  of  Florence,  of  the  world. 
After  a  few  hands  he  picked  up  a  straight,  seven 
high.     He  raised  the  opener,  who  promptly  raised 
him  in  return,  giving  him  the  other  barrel,  as  the 
saying  went.    Bodney  raised  again.    He  was  to  get 


84  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

action  on  all  the  money  in  front  of  him.  The  dealer 
said  ''cards,"  and  the  opener,  tapping  the  table  with 
his  cards,  repHed,  ''Help  him." 

"Don't  you  want  any?"  Bodney  eagerly  asked. 

"Didn't  hear  me  call  for  any,  did  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  want  any  either,"  said  Bodney,  in 
faltering  tones.  A  seven  high  straight  looked  weak 
against  a  pat  hand. 

"Turn  'em  over,  boys,"  said  the  man  in  the  look- 
out chair. 

Bodney  tremulously  spread  his  hand.  "Only 
seven  high." 

"Just  top  you.  Mine's  eight  high.  You  had  me 
scared,  and  if  you'd  have  more  money  and  bet  me 
after  the  draw  I  don't  think  I  call." 

That  might  have  been  true,  but  it  offered  no  con- 
solation to  Bodney.    "Just  my  luck,"  he  said. 

"When  a  man  gets  them  sort  of  hands  beaten 
he's  got  to  lose  his  money,"  said  the  "look-out." 
"There's  nothing  to  it."  A  man  standing  near  was 
waiting  for  Bodney's  seat.  He  shoved  back  and 
was  about  to  get  up,  pursuant  upon  the  resolution 
which  he  had  formed  when,  it  occurred  to  him,  as 
it  always  does,  that  with  ten  more  he  could  win  back 
the  ten  just  lost.  It  was  simply  an  accident  that  the 
fellow  held  over  him.    He  would  try  ten  more.    His 


WENT  OUT  TO  "DIG."  85 

luck  was  gone,  but  he  expected  every  moment  to 
see  it  return.  He  opened  a  pot  on  aces  and  tens. 
A  fool  stayed  on  deuces,  caught  his  third,  and 
slaughtered  him.  He  bought  ten  more.  His  spirits 
were  heavy  and  he  sighed  distressfully.  It  was 
not  the  loss  of  the  money ;  it  was  the  harassing 
sense  of  being  beaten.  He  opened  another  pot  on 
queens  up.  One  of  the  regulars  raised  him.  He 
began  to  reason.  "He  would  raise  it  on  two  pairs 
smaller  than  queens  up.  I  saw  him  raise  just  now 
on  sevens  up.  I'll  stand  it."  He  put  in  his  money 
and  drew  one  card.  The  regular  drew  one.  The 
prospect  was  not  bright,  still  it  was  not  so  bad.  He 
did  not  help.  He  bet  a  white  chip ;  the  regular 
raised  him  three  dollars  and  he  called.  Then  the 
regular  had  recourse  to  a  joke,  new  to  Bodney,  but 
old  to  the  game.  "I  have  the  waiter's  deHght," 
said  he. 

"The  what?" 

"The  waiter's  delight,"  and  he  spread  a  tray  full. 

At  ten  o'clock,  Bodney's  capital,  including  the 
reserve  fund,  amounted  to  twenty  dollars.  "You 
beat  me  every  time,"  he  said,  to  an  offensive  fellow 
who  sat  opposite.  It  was  the  stranger  with  whom 
he  had  laughed  early  in  the  game. 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for." 


86  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

'That's  all  right.    I'll  get  you  yet." 

He  won  several  pots,  and  then  opened  a  double 
pot  for  five  dollars.  He  had  a  king  high  flush,  and 
he  intended  the  heavy  opening  to  operate  as  a  re- 
verse bluff,  to  argue  a  small  hand.  The  offensive 
fellow  stayed  and  drew  one  card.  He  made  a  small 
full  and  Bodney  felt  his  heart  stop  beating.  At 
eleven  o'clock  he  had  simply  the  five  dollar  reserve 
fund.  And  he  saw  it  melt  away — saw  his  last  chip  go 
in.  He  drew,  having  a  show  for  the  pot,  and  made 
jacks  up.  The  opener  had  queens  up.  Heavy  of 
heart,  Bodney  went  down  the  stairs.  He  cursed 
himself  for  playing  after  dinner.  "If  I  only  had 
ten  dollars  I  might  win  it  all  back,"  he  mused. 
"They  can't  possibly  beat  me  all  the  time.  I  played 
as  good  cards  as  anybody.  I  wonder  where  I  can 
get  ten  dollars.  Everybody  that  knows  me  has 
gone  home  by  now.  Let  me  see.  I  know  a  fellow 
over  at  that  drug  store.  But  I've  forgotten  his 
name.  Wonder  if  he'd  let  me  have  ten.  I'll  try 
him."  He  went  into  the  drug  store,  saw  the  man 
standing  behind  the  counter,  walked  up,  reached 
over  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

"How's  everything?"  Bodney  asked. 

"Oh,  pretty  fair.    How  is  it  with  you?'* 

"All  right.    Say,  old  man,  a  college  chum  of  mine, 


"  How's  everything?"  Bodney  asked. 


WENT  OUT  TO  "DIG."  87 

devilish  good  fellow,  came  in  just  now  on  a  train 
and  happened  to  catch  me  at  the  office — " 
"Yes?"  said  the  druggist,  looking  at  him. 
"Yes,  and  the  fact  is,  he  got  here  broke  and  has 
called  on  me  to  help  him  out.  He's  a  devilish  good 
fellow,  and  I  don't  exactly  know  what  to  do.  Every 
one  I  know  has  gone  home,  and — could  you  let  me 
have  ten  till  tomorrow  ?  You  can  count  on  it  then." 
"Oh,  I  guess  so,  but  I'm  rather  short." 
"I'll  give  it  to  you  tomorrow  without  fail." 
He  went  out  with  a  ten  dollar  note  crumpled 
in  his  hand.  A  man  may  fail  to  get  rent  money, 
clothes  money,  bread  money ;  he  may  meet  with 
obstacles  that  he  cannot  overcome ;  his  self-respect 
withholds  him  from  asking  favors  of  certain  men. 
But  the  fool  in  hot  quest  of  poker  money  knows  no 
self-respect,  recognizes  no  embarrassments  that 
might  stand  in  modesty's  way.  Bodney  bounded  up 
the  stairs,  afraid  that  the  game  might  have  broken 
up.  Panting  and  tremulous,  he  pressed  the  electric 
button.  A  negro  porter  pulled  aside  a  blue  curtain, 
peeped  through  the  glass  and  opened  the  door.  The 
game  had  not  broken  up.  Every  seat  was  taken, 
the  regulars,  with  chips  stacked  high  before  them, 
the  "suckers"  squirming  with  "short  money."  How 
dull  and  spiritless  everything  had  looked  when  Bod- 


88  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

ney  went  out,  and  now  how  bright  it  all  was,  the 
carpet,  the  window  curtains,  the  pictures  on  the 
walls.  The  room  w^as  large,  affording  ample  space 
for  a  meditative  walk  up  and  down,  and  as  he  was 
too  nervous  to  sit  still,  he  walked. 

"Think  there'll  be  a  seat  pretty  soon?"  he  asked 
of  the  man  at  the  desk. 

"Very  soon,  I  think.  Sit  down  and  make  yourself 
comfortable.  Have  a  cigar."  He  lighted  the  cigar 
and  resumed  his  v/alk.  Passing  the  table  he  saw  a 
man  in  the  death  throes  of  a  "show-down."  Some 
one  had  opened  a  pot  and  he  had  been  compelled  to 
stay.  Bodney  eagerly  watched  the  draw.  The 
opener  drew  one  card.  The  "show-down"  man  had 
to  draw  four,  presumably  to  an  ace.  This  was  en- 
couraging to  Bodney.  He  was  the  next  in  Hne ;  he 
would  get  the  seat.  He  leaned  forward  to  catch  the 
result.  The  opener  had  tens  up.  The  four-card 
draw  yielded  a  better  crop,  aces  up,  and  with  a  sense 
of  disappointment  and  injury  Bodney  resumed  his 
walk.  But  pretty  soon  a  man  cashed  in,  and  the 
young  lawyer  bought  five  dollars  worth  of  chips, 
and  took  his  seat.  He  won  the  first  pot,  the  second 
and  the  third,  but  without  stayers.  Surely  his  luck 
had  returned.  Again  he  felt  a  current  of  pleasure 
flowing  through  his  mind.     He  laughed  at  a  stale 


WENT  OUT  TO  "DIG."  89 

joke.  It  had  never  sounded  so  well  before.  A  man, 
the  offensive  fellow,  now  quite  a  gentleman,  began 
to  tell  a  story,  and  Bodney  encouraged  him  with  a 
smile.  *'I  knev/  a  man  once,  a  preacher,  by  the 
way,"  said  he,  "who  got  into  the  habit  of  playing 
faro  ;  I  guess  he  must  have  played  before  he  began  to 
preach,  and  found  that  he  couldn't  quit.  Some 
fellow  that  was  kin  to  him  croaked,  and  left  him  a 
lot  of  money.  Then  he  knew  he  wouldn't  play  any 
more.  Well,  one  day  he  went  by  the  bank  where  he 
had  his  money,  and  pretty  soon  he  says  to  himself : 
'Believe  I'll  draw  out  just  a  small  sum  and  try  my 
luck  once  more — just  once.'  Well,  he  kept  drawing 
on  that  money  till  it  is  all  gone.  Nothing  to  it,  you 
know.  Then  one  night  he  gets  down  on  his  knees 
and  prays.  'Lord,'  says  he,  'if  I  ever  play  again  I 
hope  you'll  make  me  lose.'  " 

"Did  he  play  again?"  Bodney  asked. 

"Yes ;  he  keep  right  on." 

"And  did  he  lose?" 

"No.    He  coppers  his  bets." 

Bodney  was  immensely  tickled  at  the  idea  of  the 
fellow  "coppering"  his  bets  to  offset  the  influence 
of  the  Deity,  and  he  laughed  uproariously,  but  just 
then  he  lost  a  pot,  and  his  mirth  fell  dead.  And 
after  this   every  time   he   opened  a  pot   someone 


90  .  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

would  raise  him.  After  a  while  he  dragged  out  his 
last  five  dollars  and  invested  in  chips.  Then  he 
sank  into  the  condition  known  as  "sifting,"  anteing 
and  never  getting  a  pair.  Behind  him  stood  a  man 
waiting  for  his  seat.  He  saw  his  last  chip  melt 
away  and  he  got  up,  so  heavy  that  he  could  hardly 
stand.  The  fellow  who  had  told  the  story,  and  to 
whom  Bodney  had  paid  the  tribute  of  most  gen- 
erous laughter,  dealt  the  cards  and  skipped  Bodney 
without  even  looking  at  him.  But  Bodney  looked 
at  him,  and  how  offensive  he  was.  ''I'd  like  to  cut 
his  infamous  throat,"  he  mused.  Down  the  stairs 
again  he  went,  heavier  and  more  desperate  than  be- 
fore. It  was  now  past  midnight.  ''Now  what?"  he 
said,  halting  on  a  corner  and  wiping  his  hot  face. 
"I  don't  know  what  to  do,  but  I  almost  know  I 
could  win  out  if  I  had  ten  more.  But  I  don't  know 
where  to  get  it.  There's  no  use  to  look  for  Goyle. 
I  wonder  if  that  fellow  at  the  drug  store  would  let 
me  have  another  ten.  I'll  go  and  see."  He  crossed 
over,  went  into  the  drug  store,  and  asked  the 
squirter  of  soda  water  if  his  friend  was  there.  No, 
he  had  gone  home.  'Ts  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know.     By  the  way,  you've  seen 
me  in  here  a  number  of  times,  haven't  you?" 


WENT  OUT  TO  "DIG."  91 

"Oh,  yes.     And  I  used  to  see  you  over  at  the 
other  place." 

"Yes,  I  remember,  now.    And  your  name  is — " 

"Watkins." 

"Yes,  that's  a  fact.  I  remember  you  now.  How 
are  you  getting  along,  Watkins  ?" 

"All  right." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  used  to  know  you,"  said  Bodney. 
"And  I  guess  you  are  about  the  best  in  your  line." 

The  man  smiled.    "Well,  that's  what  they  say." 

"Yes,  I've  heard  a  good  many  people  say  it. 
Well,  you  understand  your  business.  Say,  can  you 
do  me  a  favor?  I  need  ten  dollars  till  tomorrow 
morning,  and  if  you'll  let  me  have  it,  I'll — " 

The  man  shut  him  off  with  the  shake  of  the  head. 
"I  haven't  got  ten  cents,"  he  said. 

Bodney  stepped  out.  "Come  in  again,"  the  fel- 
low called  after  him.  He  did  not  reply,  except  in  a 
mumble,  to  hurl  imprecations  back  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  soda-water  man.  "He's  a  liar,  and  I'll  bet 
he's  a  thief.  Now  what?"  he  added,  halting  on  the 
corner.  He  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and 
scanned  the  faces  of  the  passers-by,  hoping  to  recog- 
nize an  acquaintance.  Presently  a  man  rushed  up 
and  with  a  "helloa,  old  fellow,"  grasped  him  by  the 
hand.     Bodney  gripped  him ;  he  did  not  recall  his 


92  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

name,  but  he  held  him  close.    "I  haven't  seen  you 
for  some  time,"  said  Bodney. 

"No,  not  since  we  were  out  on  Lake  Geneva, 
fishing;  for  cisco." 

'That's  a  fact.  Say,  everybody  has  closed  up, 
and  I  need  ten  dollars  till  tomorrow  morning.  Can 
you—" 

"I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  ior  five,"  said  the 
Cisco  fisherman.  ''I  went  over  here  at  three  sixty- 
one,  and  got  into  a  little  game  of  poker  and  got 
busted.  Ever  over  there?  Now,  there's  a  good 
game,  only  two  dollars  limit,  but  it's  liberal.  There 
ain't  a  tight  wad  in  the  house.  Come  up  some 
time." 

Bodney  got  on  a  car  to  go  home.  He  had  just 
five  cents.  The  talking  of  two  women  and  the 
frolicking  of  a  party  of  young  fellows  annoyed  him. 
And  then  arose  before  him  the  sorrowful  face  of 
his  sister.  The  rat  had  come  back  with  his  teeth 
sharpened,  and  he  felt  his  heart  bleeding.  He  fan- 
cied that  he  could  hear  the  dripping  of  the  blood. 
Then  came  upon  him  the  resolve  never  to  play  an- 
other game  of  poker.  It  was  a  sure  road  to  ruin, 
to  despair.  He  would  confess  to  Howard  and  the 
Judge.  The  car  stopped  and  Bradley,  the  preacher, 
got  on,  sitting  down  opposite  Bodney,  who,  upon 


WENT  OUT  TO  "DIG."  93 

recognizing  him,  arose  and  warmly  shook  his 
hand.  "I  am  dehghted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bradley. 
You  are  out  thus  late  for  the  good  of  humanity,  I 
suppose,  or  rather  I  know." 

*'I  can  only  hope  so,"  repHed  the  preacher. 

''Some  sort  of  meeting  of  preachers  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  morals,  Mr.  Bradley?" 

"No,  a  dinner.- 

"Well,  a  good  dinner  contributes  to  good 
morals." 

"If  not  over-indulged  in." 

"Yes,  if  there  is  a  virtuous  lack  of  wine,  such  as 
must  have  been  the  case  tonight."  He  continued  to 
stand,  holding  a  strap,  and  meditating  upon  future 
procedure,  for  there  was  a  purpose  in  the  cordiality 
with  which  he  had  greeted  the  minister,  a  purpose 
now  fully  developed.  "By  the  way,  I  must  come 
down  again  tonight — am  going  home  to  get  some 
money.  Late  this  evening  I  received  a  note,  tell- 
ing me  that  a  friend  of  mine,  a  divinity  student,  was 
exceedingly  ill.  I  hastened  to  the  number  given 
and  found  him  in  a  poverty-stricken  room,  lying 
upon  a  wretched  bed,  without  a  nurse,  almost  de- 
lirious with  suffering.  I  knew  that  he  was  poor, 
that  he  had  bent  his  energies  to  study  to  the  neglect 
of  material  things,  but  I  had  not  expected  to  find 


94  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

him  in  so  deplorable  a  condition.  So  I  am  now  on 
my  way  home  to  get  ten  dollars.  I  went  to  several 
places,  hoping  that  I  could  borrow,  but  failed  to 
find  any  one  whom  I  knew  well  enough  to  ask  for 
a  loan,  even  for  so  short  a  time  as  tomorrow.  But 
perhaps  you  could  let  me  have  it." 

**Why,  I'll  go  with  you — at  once.  What  is  the 
young  man's  name?" 

'Tatterson.  But  he's  so  peculiar  that  he  might 
not  like  to  see  a  stranger.  He  begged  me  not  to 
say  anything  about  his  condition." 

Bradley  gave  him  ten  dollars,  and  he  did  not  wait 
to  reach  the  next  street  crossing,  but  jumped  oflf 
the  car,  sprang  upon  a  cable  train  going  north,  and 
was  soon  climbing  the  stairs  leading  to  the  Wexton 
Club.  The  same  negro  admitted  him,  and  again  he 
was  afraid  that  the  game  might  have  dissolved, 
merely  to  cheat  him  of  victorious  reprisal,  but  it 
was  still  in  progress,  with  one  vacant  seat.  This 
time  he  invested  his  entire  amount.  The  feeling  of 
security,  inspired  by  a  reserve  fund,  favored  an  over- 
confidence,  he  fancied;  it  was  better  to  know  that 
there  was  nothing  in  reserve ;  it  enforced  caution. 
He  played  with  varying  luck  till  about  twelve 
o'clock,  till  a  regular  smote  him,  hip  and  thigh; 
and  then,  like  the  captain,  in  the  version  of  the  poem, 
not  recited  to  ladies,  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 


SAW  THE  BLACK  FACE.  95 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SAW  THE  BLACK  FACE,  GRIM,  WITHOUT  A  SMILE. 

It  was  nearly  daylight  when  Bodney  reached 
home.  As  he  stood  on  the  steps,  after  unlocking 
the  door,  he  looked  toward  the  east  and  said  aloud : 
"The  sun  will  soon  draw  to  his  flush.  But  he  al- 
ways makes  it.  God,  what  a  night  I've  had.  It  is 
the  last  one,  for  here  at  the  threshold  of  a  new  day 
I  swear  that  I  will  never  touch  another  card.  And 
Goyle — I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him." 
He  went  in,  still  repeating  his  vow,  and  as  he  passed 
the  door  of  the  office,  was  surprised  to  see  a  light 
within ;  and  halting,  he  heard  footsteps  slowly  pac- 
ing up  and  down.  He  stepped  in  and  stood  face  to 
face  with  the  Judge. 

"Why,  Judge,  are  you  up  so  soon,  or  haven't  you 
gone  to  bed?" 

"I  haven't  been  to  bed.    And  you?" 

"I  have  been  sitting  up  with  a  sick  friend.  Don't 
you  think  you'd  better  lie  down  now?" 

"No,  I  think  nothing  of  the  sort.    It  is  better  to 


96  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

stand  in  hell,  sir,  than  to  wallow  in  it."  Bodney 
sat  Sown  and  the  old  man  stood  facing  him.  "But 
I  can  hardly  realize  that  it  was  not  a  nightmare, 
George.  Go  over  it  with  me ;  tell  me  about  it.  How 
did  it  happen?" 

"Why,  we  simply  came  in  here  together  and 
found — him.    That's  all." 

"Yes,  that's  all,  but  it  is  enough." 

"Was  there  very  much  money  involved?"  Bod- 
ney asked,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"Money !  I  haven't  once  thought  of  the  amount. 
It  is  the  fact  that  I  have  been  shot  with  an  arrow 
taken  from  my  own  quiver,  and  poisoned.  And  yet, 
when  I  look  at  him,  as  I  did  today  at  dinner,  I  can 
hardly  bring  myself  to  believe  my  own  eyes." 

"You  haven't — haven't  said  anything  to  him, 
have  you  ?" 

"In  the  way  of  accusation?  No.  It  would  leap 
from  him  to  his  mother.  And  I  charge  you  to 
breathe  it  to  no  one." 

"Not  even  my  sister,  who  is  to  be  his  wife?" 

"No.    I  will  take  her  case  in  hand." 

"But  will  you  permit  them  to  marry?" 

"Not  in  a  house  of  God ;  not  in  the  presence  of  a 
guest.  If  she  is  determined  to  marry  him  against  my 
protest,  it  must  be  in  secret,  as  his  deed  was." 


SAW  THE  3LACK  FACE.  97 

"I  hope,  sir,  that  everything  may— may  come  out 
right." 

''What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"Why,  I  hope  that  you  may  forgive  him.    I  don't 
think  that  he's  dishonest  at  heart." 

"Then  you  are  a  fool." 

"I  admit  that,  Judge.  I  am  a  fool,  an  infamous 
fool." 

"But  you  are  not  a  scoundrel,  not  a  thief." 

"I  might  be  worse." 

"Enough  of  that.  You  are  trying  to  debase 
yourself  to  raise  him.  Don't  do  it.  You  can't  afford 
it.  You  have  an  honest  living  to  make,  and  through 
you  I  must  now  look  to  the  future."  He  turned 
away,  and  for  a  time  walked  up  and  down  in  silence ; 
then,  coming  back,  resumed  his  place  in  front  of 
Bodney.  "It  all  comes  from  my  over-confidence  in 
modern  civilization.  I  did  not  presume  to  instruct 
or  even  advise  him  as  to  a  course  of  reading,  per- 
mitting him  to  exercise  his  own  fancy ;  and  it  led 
him  to  that  running  sore  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
— Paris.  He  read  French  books,  the  germs  thrown 
off  by  diseased  minds.  He  lived  in  a  literary  pest 
house,  and  how  could  he  come  out  clean?  He  was 
prepared  for  any  enormity  against  nature,  and  why 
then  should  he  have  drawn  the  line  between  me 


98  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

and  any  of  his  desires  ?"  He  turned  away,  walking 
up  and  down,  sometimes  rubbing  his  hands  to- 
gether, as  if  washing  them,  then  putting  them  be- 
hind him ;  halting  at  the  desk  to  gaze  down  at  some- 
thing ;  going  once  to  the  safe  and  putting  his  hand 
upon  it,  but  snatching  it  away  as  if  the  iron  were 
hot.  Bodney  followed  him  about  with  his  eyes, 
seeing  him  through  cards,  hearts  and  spades.  His 
mind  flew  back  to  the  game,  and  he  could  see  the 
players  sitting  just  as  he  had  left  them,  the  offensive 
fellow  and  the  regular,  behind  a  redoubt  of  chips. 
Only  ten  dollars  more  would  have  saved  him;  he 
had  fancied  so  before,  but  now  it  was  not  fancy  but 
almost  a  perfect  knowledge.  Why  had  he  not  asked 
the  preacher  for  twenty  instead  of  ten? 

"But  it  is  so  strange,"  said  the  old  man,  sitting 
down  with  one  arm  straight  out  upon  the  green 
baize  table;  and  the  wretch  with  his  mind  on  the 
game  thought  that  it  would  be  but  an  ungainly 
position  for  a  player  to  take ;  he  ought  to  sit  facing 
the  table  with  his  hands  in  front  of  him.  ''Stranger 
than  truth,"  said  the  Judge,  and  Bodney  looked  at 
him  with  a  start.  For  a  moment  the  game  van- 
ished and  darkness  fell  upon  the  players,  but  soon 
a  blue  curtain  was  pulled  aside,  a  black  face,  grim, 
without  a  smile,  showed  glistering  behind  the  glass, 


SAW  THE  BLACK  FACE.  99 

the  door  was  opened,  and  there  again  were  the 
players  in  the  Hght,  the  offensive  fellow  drawing 
one  card,  the  regular  solemn  and  confident  with 
a  hand  that  was  pat.  ''Stranger  than  the  strangest 
truth  that  I  have  ever  encountered,"  the  Judge  went 
on,  turning  his  back  to  the  table  and  looking  over 
Bodney's  head  at  something  on  the  wall.  ''But  I 
brood  too  much." 

"One  card,"  said  Bodney,  in  a  thick  muse. 

"What's  that?" 

The  young  man  started.      "Nothing." 

"You  said  something  about  a  card." 

"Yes,  sir;  it  was  sent  in  to  me  tonight  while  I 
was  with  my  sick  friend — man  wanted  to  see  him 
on  business  and  insisted  upon  coming  in,  and  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  put  him  off." 

"Brood  too  much,''  the  Judge  repeated,  after  a 
brief  mterval  of  silence.  "The  mind  mildews  under 
any  one  thing  that  lies  upon  it  long.  A  continuous 
joy  might  be  as  poisonous  as  a  grief."  He  leaned 
forward  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  talked  in  a 
smothered  voice. 

"The  sun  is  coming  up,"  said  Bodney.  "Don't 
you  think  you'd  better  lie  down?" 

"You  go  to  bed.    Don't  mind  me." 

"Believe  I  will.  I  am  worn  out,  and  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  stand  it  as  well  as  you  do." 


100  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"In  worry  there  is  a  certain  sort  of  strength.  Go 
to  bed." 

Bodney  got  up  and  went  to  the  door,  but  turned 
and  looked  at  the  old  man,  bowed  over  with  his 
fingers  pressed  to  his  eyes.  The  coming  of  the  sun 
had  driven  the  game  further  ofif  into  the  night,  and 
now  the  wretch's  heart  smote  him  hard.  He  could 
lift  that  gray  head;  into  those  dull  eyes  he  could 
throw  the  light  of  astonishment,  but  they  would 
shoot  anger  at  him  and  drive  him  out  of  the  house. 
If  he  could  only  win  enough  to  replace  the  money 
taken  from  the  safe,  to  give  himself  the  standing  of 
true  repentance,  he  would  confess  his  crime.  Win 
enough!  He  could  not  conceive  of  getting  it  in 
any  other  way ;  all  idea  of  business  had  been  driven 
from  his  mind.  He  had  no  mind,  no  reason ;  what 
had  been  his  mind  was  now  a  disease  on  fire,  half 
in  smoke  and  half  in  flame,  but  he  felt  that  if  he  could 
get  even,  the  fire  would  go  out  and  the  smoke  clear 
away.  The  old  fellow  who  turned  moralist  could 
have  told  him  that  he  had  for  more  than  half  a  life- 
time struggled  to  get  even,  that  the  poker  fool  is 
never  even  but  twice,  once  before  he  plays  and  once 
after  he  is  dead.  And  the  scholar  who  had  forgotten 
his  grammar  in  the  constant  strain  of  the  present 
tense  would  have  assured  him  that  the  hope  to  get 


SAW  THE  BLACK  FACE.  101 

even  was  a  trap  set  by  the  devil  to  catch  the  imag- 
inative mind. 

The  Judge  groaned,  and  Bodney  took  a  step  to- 
ward him,  with  his  hands  stretched  forth  as  if  he 
would  grasp  him  and  shake  him  into  a  conscious- 
ness  of  the  truth,  but  the  old  man  looked  up  and 
the  young  man  faltered.  "T  thought  you  were 
going  to  bed,  George." 

*T  am,  sir." 

"Then,  why  do  you  stand  there  looking  at  me?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  he  stammered,  in  his  embar- 
rassment. 

**Yes,  you  do  know,"  said  the  Judge,  giving  him 
a  straight  and  steady  look.  "You  know  that  you 
are  hanging  about  to  plead  the  cause  of  your — your 
friend ;  but  it  is  of  no  use.  Friend !  I  would  to 
God  he  had  been  my  friend.  Confess,  now ;  isn't 
that  the  reason  you  are  standing  there?" 

**You  read  my  mind.  Judge,"  said  the  wretch. 

"Do  I  ?    Then  read  mine  and  go  to  bed." 

As  Bodney  turned  toward  the  door,  he  met  Wil- 
liam coming  in.  The  old  fellow  carried  his  coat 
thrown  across  one  arm  and  was  trying  to  button 
his  shirt  collar.  It  was  his  custom  to  begin  dress- 
ing at  his  bedside,  grabbing  up  the  first  garment 
within  reach,  and  to  complete  his  work  in  the  office, 


102  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

the  basement,  or  even  the  back  yard.  "Hold  on 
a  minute,"  he  said  to  Bodney.  ''Button  this 
infernal  collar  for  me."  Bodney  halted  to  obey. 
"Can't  you  take  hold  of  it?  Is  it  as  slick  as  all 
that  ?  Do  you  think  I  wear  an  eel  around  my  neck  ? 
Confound  it,  don't  choke  the  life  out  of  me.  Get 
away.  I  can  do  it  better  myself.  Didn't  I  tell  you 
to  quit  ?  Are  you  a  bull-dog,  that  you  have  to  hang 
on  that  way?" 

Bodney  trod  heavily  to  his  room.  The  old  fel- 
low threw  his  coat  on  the  table  and  began  to  walk 
about,  tugging  at  his  collar. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  button  it  here  better  than 
in  your  own  room?"  the  Judge  asked,  straightening 
up  and  looking  at  him.  "Has  this  office  been  set 
aside  as  a  sort  of  dressing  parade  ground  for  you  ?" 

William  was  muttering  and  fuming.  "I  was 
Judge  Lynch  out  West,  once,  and  was  about  to  set 
a  horse-thief  free,  but  just  then  I  incidentally  heard 
that  he  had  sold  collars  and  I  ordered  him  hanged. 
Did  you  speak  to  me,  John?" 

"I  asked  you  a  question." 

"I  knew  a  Universalist  preacher  that  changed  his 
religion  on  account  of  a  collar — swore  that  its  in- 
ventor must  necessarily  go  to  the  flames.  What  was 
the  question  you  asked  me,  John?" 


SAW  THE  BLACK  FACE.  103 

''One  that  would  have  no  more  effect  on  you  than 
a  drop  of  water  on  the  back  of  a  mole." 

WilHam  buttoned  his  collar,  tied  his  cravat,  took 
a  seat  opposite  his  brother  and  looked  hard  at  him. 
''John,  I  see  that  your  temper  hasn't  improved. 
And  you  have  got  up  early  to  turn  it  loose  on  me. 
Now,  what  have  I  done  ?    Hah,  what  have  I  done  ?" 

"I  have  never  heard  of  your  doing  anything,  Wil- 
liam." 

"That's  intended  as  an  insult.  Oh,  I  understand 
you.  You  never  heard  of  my  doing  anything.  You 
haven't  ?  You  never  heard  of  my  electing  two  gov- 
ernors out  West.  You  bat  your  eyes  at  the  fact 
that  I  sent  a  man  to  the  United  States  Senate.  Why, 
at  one  time  I  owned  the  whole  state  of  Montana, 
and  a  man  who  had  never  done  anything  couldn't 
— couldn't  make  that  sort  of  showing." 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  state  ?" 

"What  did  I  do  with  it  ?  A  nice  question  to  ask  a 
man.  W^hat  did  Adam  do  with  the  Garden  of 
Eden?" 

"You  were  not  driven  out  of  Montana,  were 
you?" 

"Driven  out?    W^ho  said  I  was  driven  out?" 

"But  Adam  was  driven  out  of  the  garden." 

"Oh,  yes,   of   course.     I   merely   spoke   of  the 


104  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Garden  of  Eden  for  the  reason  that  Adam's  claim 
on  it  was  only  sentimental,  if  I  may  call  it  such.  I 
mean  that  I  owned  the  good  opinion  of  every  man 
in  the  state.  I  could  have  had  anything  within  the 
gift  of  the  commonwealth." 

"Then,  why  didn't  you  go  to  the  Senate,  or  elect 
yourself  governor?  Why  were  you  so  thoughtless 
a  prodigal  of  your  influence?" 

"That's  a  nice  question  to  ask  a  man.  Why  didn't 
you  buy  an  acre  in  this  town  that  would  have  made 
you  worth  millions?  Why  didn't  I  go  to  the 
Senate?  I  had  something  else  on  my  mind.  Every 
man  is  not  ambitious  to  hold  office.  There's  some- 
thing higher  than  politics.  I  was  educated  for  a 
different  sphere  of  action.  I  was,  as  you  know, 
educated  for  a  preacher,  but  my  faith  slipped  from 
under  me.    But  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  to  you." 

"Not  much,  William,  I  admit." 

"But  can't  you  tell  me  why  this  peculiar  change 
has  come  over  you?  It  worries  me,  and  you  know 
why." 

The  Judge  made  a  gesture.  "Don't — it's  not  that. 
My  mind  is  perfectly  sound." 

"Then,  what's  the  trouble  ?" 

"I  can't  tell  you." 

"Am  I  ever  to  know?" 

*T  hope  not." 


SAW  THE  BLACK  FACE.  105 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  give  me  the  keen 
edge  of  your  temper  and  not  tell  me  the  cause  that 
led  you  to  whet  it  against  me." 

"I  have  not  whetted  it  againct  you — it  has  been 
whetted  on  my  heart.  Go  away,  William,  and  leave 
me  to  myself." 

*'I  would  if  you  were  yourself,  but  you  are  not. 
There  is  something  the  matter  with  you." 

''1  grant  that." 

"And  in  it  there  is  cause  for  alarm,  both  for  you 
and  for  myself." 

"Now,  please  don't  allude  to  that  again.  My 
mind  is  perfectly  sound,  I  tell  you." 

"And  so  one  dear  to  us  often  declared." 

The  Judge  got  up.  "I  shall  have  to  command 
you  to  leave  this  room." 

"Then,  of  course,  I'll  go.  Here  comes  your  v/ife. 
Rachel,  there  is  something  radically  wrong  with 
John,  and  I  advise  you  to  send  for  the  best  physi- 
cian in  this  town." 


106  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HEARD  A  GONG  IN  THE  ALLEY. 

More  than  once  during  the  night  had  Mrs.  El- 
bridge  looked  in  upon  her  husband,  to  urge  upon 
him  the  necessity  for  rest.  But  he  had  told  her 
that  he  had  on  hand  the  most  important  case  that 
ever  came  to  him,  declared  that  the  life  of  a  man 
depended  upon  his  meditation ;  a  new  point  in  law 
was  involved,  and  it  would  be  a  crime  to  sleep  until 
his  work  was  done.  The  governor  of  the  state 
had  submitted  the  question  to  him.  And  thus  had 
she  been  put  off,  having  no  cause  to  doubt  him ; 
but  now  she  caught  William's  alarm.  ''My  dear," 
said  the  Judge,  when  she  approached  him,  "it  seems 
that  both  you  and  my  brother  are  struggling  hard 
to  misunderstand  me.  You  know  that  I  have  never 
deceived  you — you  know  that  I  would  tell  you  if 
there  were  anything  wrong.  It  is  true  that  the 
death  of  my  brother  Henry  has  shocked  me  great- 
ly—" 

"But  why  don't  you  tell  William  ?  He  ought  to 
know.    And  it  is  our  duty  to  tell  him." 


HEARD  A  GONG  IN  THE  ALLEY.  107 

The  old  man,  looking  toward  the  door,  held  up 
his  hand.  '*No,  he  must  not  be  told — nor  must  any- 
one else.    I  have  an  object." 

"But,  my  dear,  I  don't  see — " 

"I  know  you  don't.  And  I  cannot  tell  you — I 
can — can  merely  hint.  It  is  a  question  of  life  insur- 
ance, and  the  company  must  not  hear  of  his  death 
till  certain  points  are  settled.  William,  as  you 
know,  while  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world,  has  a 
slippery  tongue.  And,  besides,  he  is  in  no  condition 
now  to  hear  bad  news.  It  is  a  secret,  but  he  is 
having  trouble  with  his  heart — under  treatment. 
Let  us  wait  till  he  is  stronger." 

"But,  dear,  is  that  a  cause  why  you  should  frown 
so  at  Howard,  and  treat  him  with  such  contempt?" 

He  walked  away  from  her,  but  she  followed  him 
and  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  They  halted  near 
the  safe  and  stood  in  silence,  he  looking  at  the 
iron  chest,  she  looking  at  him.  The  sound  of  a 
peddler's  gong  came  from  the  alley,  and  he  sprang 
back  from  the  safe  and  dropped  heavily  down  upon 
a  chair.  Florence  was  heard  talking  to  someone, 
and  Mrs.  Elbridge  called  her,  and  at  this  the  old 
man  brightened.  Florence  was  his  recourse,  his 
safeguard,  and  when  she  came  in  he  greeted  her 
with  something  of  his  former  heartiness. 


108  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

''Florence,  they  are  worried  about  me.  Tell  them 
that  they  have  no  cause." 

The  young  woman's  face  was  bright  with  a  smile, 
but  it  was  a  light  without  warmth,  a  kindly  light 
intended  to  deceive,  not  the  Judge,  but  his  wife. 
Mrs.  Elbridge  looked  at  her  husband  and  was  aston- 
ished at  the  change  in  him.  She  could  not  under- 
stand it,  but  she  was  not  halting  to  investigate 
causes.  ''You  are  our  physician,  Florence,"  she 
said.  "But  you  must  bring  your  patient  under  bet- 
ter discipline.    He  didn't  go  to  bed  at  all  last  night." 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  reprimand  him.  Sir,  why 
do  you  disobey  my  orders?" 

The  old  man's  attempt  at  a  smile  was  but  a  poor 
pretense,  but  it  deceived  the  eye  of  affection.  "Be- 
cause, Doctor,  I  had  a  most  important  case  on 
hand;  but  it  is  about  worked  out  now,  and  I  will 
in  the  future  have  more  regard  for  your  instruc- 
tions." 

They  talked  pleasantly  for  a  time,  and  then  Mrs. 
Elbridge  went  out,  leaving  the  Judge  and  Florence 
in  the  office ;  but  no  sooner  was  the  wife  gone  than 
the  husband  began  to  droop;  and  the  light  of  the 
forced  smile  faded  from  the  countenance  of  the 
young  woman.  She  looked  at  the  Judge  and  her 
face  was  stern.     "We  are  hypocrites  for  her,"  she 


HEARD  A  GONG  IN  THE  ALLEY.  109 

said,  nodding  toward  the  door  through  which  Mrs. 
Elbridge  had  just  passed. 

"Yes,  to  protect  the  tenderest  nature  I  have  ever 
known.  She  could  not  stand  such  a  trouble.  It 
would  kill  her." 

"She  would  not  beHeve  your  story." 

"Yes,  she  would.  UnHke  you,  she  could  not  be 
infatuated  with  the  blindness  of  her  own  faith.  She 
loves  her  son,  but  she  knows  me — loves  me.  She 
could  not  doubt  my  eyes.  What,"  he  said,  getting 
up  with  energy  and  standing  in  front  of  Florence, 
"you  are  not  debating  with  yourself  whether  or 
not  to  tell  her,  are  you?  Can  you,  for  one  mo- 
ment, forget  your  oath — an  oath  as  solemn  and  as 
binding  as  any  oath  ever  taken?  You,  surely,  are 
not  forgetting  it." 

"No,  but  I  ought  to.  My  heart  cries  for  permis- 
sion to  tell  Howard.    His  distress  reproaches  me." 

''But  your  oath." 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  forget  it,  sir,"  she  said,  almost 
savagely.  "But,  it  was  not  generous  of  you — not 
generous." 

"What  wasn't?" 

"Swearing  me  to  secrecy.  You  took  advantage 
of  what  you  conceive  to  be  my  honor,  my  strength 
of  character;    and  you  would  have  me  break  his 


110  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

heart  by  refusing  to  marry  him.  You  have  a  far- 
reaching  cruelty." 

"Florence — my  daughter,  you  must  not  say  that. 
You  know  why  I  would  keep  you  from  marrying 
him.  Have  I  been  a  judge  all  these  years,  to  find 
that  I  am  now  incapable  of  pronouncing  against 
my  own  affections  and  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  I 
am  broader  than  that." 

"You  mean  that  you  are  narrower  than  that.  It 
is  noble  to  shield  those  whom  we  love." 

"No,  it  is  selfish.  You  are  a  woman,  and  there- 
fore cannot  see  justice  as  a  man  sees  it." 

"My  eyes  may  not  be  clear  enough  to  see  jus- 
tice, but  they  have  never  beheld  a  vision  to — " 

"Don't,  Florence — now,  please  don't.  You  know 
how  I  held  him  in  my  heart;  you  know  that  no 
vision  could  have  driven  him  out.  But  it  is  useless 
to  argue.  I  have  knowledge  and  you  have  faith. 
Knowledge  is  brightest  when  the  eye  is  opened 
wide ;  faith  is  strongest  when  the  eye  is  closed." 

And  thus  she  replied:  "Ignorant  faith  may  save 
a  soul ;  knowledge  alone  might  damn  it." 

"Very  good  and  very  orthodox,  my  child ;  a  say- 
ing, though,  may  be  orthodox,  and  yet  but  graze  the 
outer  edge  of  truth." 

"But  if  there  be  so  little  truth  in  things  orthodox, 
why  should  there  be  such  obligation  in  an  oath  ?" 


HEARD  A  GONG  IN  THE  ALLEY.  Ill 

''Ah,  you  still  have  that  in  your  mind.  Look  at 
me.    I  hold  you  to  that  oath.    Will  you  keep  it  ?" 

"Yes,  but  if  I  did  not  believe  that  within  a  short 
time  something  might  occur  to  clear  this  mystery, 
I  would  break  it  in  a  minute." 

"And  let  your  soul  be  damned  ?" 

"Now,  you  are  orthodox.  Yes,  I  would  break  it. 
But  I  will  wait,  in  the  beUef  that  something  must 
occur." 

"There  is  no  way  too  tortuous  for  a  faith  to 
travel,"  the  old  man  murmured,  but  then  he  be- 
thought himself  that  to  encourage  waiting  was  a 
furtherance  of  this  humane  plan  of  protection,  and 
then  he  added:  "Yes,  wait;  we  never  know,  of 
course.  Something  might  occur.  But  make  me  a 
promise,  now  in  addition'  to  your  oath — that  if, 
finally,  when  nothing  does  occur  and  you  are  re- 
solved to  break  it,  that  you  will  first  come  to  me." 

"I  will  make  that  promise." 

Agnes  tripped  in  with  a  tune  on  her  lips.  The 
Judge  wondered  why  George  Bodney  had  not  fallen 
in  love  with  her.  She  was  bright  enough  and  pretty 
enough  to  ensnare  the  heart  of  any  man.  But  Bod- 
ney was  peculiar,  and  susceptibility  to  the  blandish- 
ments of  a  bewildering  eye  was  not  one  of  his  traits  ; 
his  nature  held  itself  in  reserve  for  a  debasing  weak- 


112  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

ness.  Agnes  asked  Florence  why  everyone  seemed 
to  drift  unconsciously  into  that  mouldy  old  office. 
Florence  did  not  know,  but  the  Judge  said  that  it 
was  attractive  to  women  because  it  was  their  nature 
to  find  interest  in  the  machinery  of  man's  afifairs. 
Business  was  the  means  with  which  man  had  es- 
tablished himself  as  woman's  superior,  and  there 
was  always  a  mystery  in  the  appliances  of  his  work- 
shop. 

"What  nonsense,  Mr.  Judge,"  said  Agnes.  "It  is 
because  there  is  so  much  freedom  in  here.  You 
can't  soil  anything  in  here — never  can  in  a  place 
where  men  stay."  Howard  passed  the  door,  and 
the  Judge's  face  darkened.  Florence  looked  at  him 
and  her  eyes  were  not  soft. 

"Now,  what  are  you  frowning  at,  Mr.  Judge?" 
said  Agnes.  "Do  you  mean  that  I  haven't  told  the 
truth?" 

"You  always  tell  the  truth,  Agnes." 

"No,  I  don't.  I  told  Mr.  Bradley  a  fib— a  small 
one,  though ;  a  little  white  mouse  of  a  fib.  But  you 
have  to  tell  fibs  to  a  preacher." 

"It  is  the  way  of  life.  Fibs  to  a  preacher  and  lies 
to  a  judge,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Lies  for  a  judge,"  Florence  spoke  up. 

"What's   the   matter   with    everybody!"   Agnes 


HEARD  A  GONG  IX  THE  ALLEY.  113 

cried,  looking  from  one  to  another.  "You  people 
talk  in  riddles  to  me.  I'm  not  used  to  it.  And, 
Florence,  you  are  getting  to  be  so  sober  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  you.  You  and  the  Judge  are 
just  alike.  What's  the  matter  with  everybody? 
^Ir.  Howard  mumbles  about  the  house  and  ]Mr. 
Bodney  acts  like  a  man  with — with  the  jerks,  what- 
ever that  is,  for  I  don't  know\  There,  I'm  glad 
breakfast  is  ready.    Come  on,  Mr.  Judge." 


8 


114  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WILLIAM  AGREED  WITH  THE  JUDGE. 

The  Judge  took  his  accustomed  seat  at  the  head 
of  the  breakfast  table,  Howard  on  his  right  and 
Bodney's  vacant  chair  at  his  left ;  but  there  was  no 
disposition  on  the  part  of  the  worry-haunted  father 
to  enter  into  conversation  with  the  son.  Howard 
was  talkative ;  his  mind  might  have  been  termed 
dyspeptic  instead  of  digestive.  The  books,  stories, 
sketches,  scraps  that  he  read,  ill-stored,  appeared 
as  a  patchwork  in  his  talk.  He  spoke  of  a  French 
author,  and  Florence  saw  the  Judge  wince.  She 
was  sitting  beside  Howard,  and  she  pulled  at  his 
coat  sleeve  as  a  warning  to  drop  the  disagreeable 
name.  He  understood  and  changed  the  subject, 
but  the  fire  had  been  kindled. 

*'It  is  no  wonder  that  the  French  could  not  whip 
the  Germans,"  said  the  Judge,  not  addressing  him- 
self to  Howard,  but  to  the  table.  "It  was  the  litera- 
ture of  France  that  weakened  her  armies.  Morality 
was  destroyed,  and  without  morality  there  can  be 
no  enduring  courage." 


WILLIAM  AGREED  WITH  THE  JUDGE.     115 

"I  think  Victor  Hugo  is  just  lovely,"  said  Agnes. 
The  Judge  nodded  assent.  "A  great  genius— 
and,  by  the  way,  he  said  that  there  were  but  three 
men  worthy  to  be  estimated  as  memorable  in  all  the 
history  of  this  life — Moses,  Shakespeare  and  Homer. 
He  belonged  to  older  and  better  France,  at  the  dy- 
ing end  of  her  greatness.  And  you  will  observe  that 
he  did  not  include  a  Frenchman  in  his  list." 

"But  I  warrant  you,"  said  Howard,  ''that  in  his 
secret  mind  he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  it." 

The  Judge  looked  at  him.  "Warrants  issued  by 
you,  sir,  are  not  always  returnable  accompanied  by 
the  facts." 

"No,  I  wouldn't  issue  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of 
a  fact.    Truth  ought  to  be  at  large." 

Florence  glanced  at  the  Judge  and  saw  him  slowly 
close  his  eyes  and  slowly  open  them.  "You  think 
Hugo  lovely,"  said  the  old  man,  speaking  to  Agnes. 
"But  what  do  you  think  of  Zola?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  him.  But  some 
of  the  girls  said  he  was  horrid,"  she  answered. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  for  you  that  you  don't  know 
anything  about  him,  and  it  reflects  credit  upon  the 
judgment  of  the  girls  who  pronounced  him  horrid," 
said  the  Judge.    "His  influence  upon  his  own  coun- 


116  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

try,  and  upon  this  country,  too,  has  been  most  per- 
nicious." 

WilHam  was  usually  most  prompt  at  meal  time, 
but  now  he  was  for  some  unaccountable  reason  de- 
layed ;  but  he  came  in  just  as  the  Judge  closed  his 
remark  concerning  Zola,  sat  down  and  began  to 
tuck  a  napkin  under  his  chin.  The  Judge  had  more 
than  once  hinted  his  displeasure  at  this  vulgarity, 
but  his  brother  continued  to  practice  it,  not  without 
heeding  the  hint,  but  with  a  defense  of  his  custom. 
He  had  elected  governors,  and  was  not  to  be  ruled 
into  discomfort  by  a  woman  who  had  written  a 
book  on  etiquette.  He  knew  politeness  as  well  as 
the  next  man  or  next  woman,  for  that  matter. 
Many  a  time  had  he  seen  Senator  Bascomb,  who 
owed  his  election  to  him,  sit  down  to  table  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  with  a  napkin  tucked  into  his  bosom, 
and  Washington  City  was  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge him  a  man  of  brains.  The  Judge  stared  at  Wil- 
liam, and  was  doubtless  about  to  repeat  his  hint, 
when  Florence  said  something  to  attract  his  eye, 
and  shook  her  head  at  him. 

"What  have  we  under  discussion  this  morning?" 
said  WilHam,  squaring  in  readiness  to  defend  him- 
self, for  he  ever  expected  an  attack. 

"French  literature,"  Howard  answered. 


WILLIAM  AGREED  WITH  THE  JUDGE.     117 

"French  fiddlesticks."  William  replied.  'There 
is  no  French  literature.  They  have  slop  that  they 
call  literature." 

"T  thank  you,  William,"  said  the  Judge,  forget- 
ting the  napkin.  This  was  received  by  the  former 
owner  of  Montana  as  proof  that  the  Judge's  ill- 
nature  had  been  cured ;  and,  bowing,  he  pulled  the 
napkin  from  about  his  jowl  and  spread  it  upon  his 
knees.  And  then  arose  a  spirited  discussion  be- 
tween the  political  Warwick  and  Howard,  the 
former  snatching  a  cue  from  his  brother,  affirming 
that  the  influence  of  France  had  always  been  bad, 
the  latter  maintaining  that  France  had  civilized  and 
cultivated  the  modern  world.  Florence  pulled  at 
Howard's  coat  sleeve ;  and  the  Judge,  observing 
her,  and  irritated  that  she  was  moved  to  employ  re- 
straint, threw  off  all  attempt  at  an  exercise  of  his 
patience.  ''Let  him  proceed !"  he  roared,  and 
everyone  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  ''Let  him  pro- 
ceed to  the  end  of  his  disgraceful  advocacy  of  cor- 
ruption. But  I  will  not  stay  to  hear  it."  And,  get- 
ting up,  he  bowed  himself  out. 

"Howard,"  said  Mrs.  Elbridge,  "you  ought  not 
to  talk  about  things  that  irritate  your  father.  He 
is  not  vv^ell." 

"You  are  wrong.  Howard,  to  oppose  him,"  Flor- 
ence spoke  up. 


118  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"I  suppose  I  am,"  the  young  man  admitted,  "but 
he  has  always  taught  me  to  form  an  opinion  of  my 
own  and  to  hold  it  when  once  well  formed,  and  until 
recently  he  seemed  pleased  at  what  he  termed  my 
individuality  and  independence.  But  now  I  can't 
do  or  say  a  thing  to  please  him.  I'm  no  child,  and 
not  a  fool,  I  hope;  then,  why  should  I  be  treated 
as  if  I  had  no  sense  at  all  ?  What  have  I  done  that 
he  should  turn  against  me?  He  treats  everyone 
else  with  consideration  and  respect.  He  even  has 
toleration  of  Uncle  William's  dates,"  he  added,  mis- 
chievously thrusting  at  the  old  fellow  for  the  recent 
stand  he  had  taken,  knowing  that,  with  him,  it 
was  the  policy  of  the  moment  rather  than  the  con- 
viction of  the  hour. 

"What!"  exclaimed  William,  with  a  bat  of  eye 
and  a  swell  of  jaw.  "Turned  loose  on  me,  have 
you?  Well,  I  want  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  won't 
stand  it.  I  am  aware  that  my  forbearance  hereto- 
fore may  have  misled  you  with  regard  to  the  ex- 
tent of  my  endurance,  but  I  want  to  say  that  you 
have  made  a  mistake.  I  am  treated  with  considera- 
tion and  respect  everywhere  except  in  this  house- 
hold, and  I  won't  stand  it,  that's  all." 

"Thank  you,"  Howard  replied. 

"Thank  me !    Thank  me  for  what  ?" 


WILLIAM  AGREED  WITH  THE  JUDGE.     119 

"You  said,  'that's  all,'  and  I  thank  you  for  it." 

Mrs.  Elbridge  interposed  with  a  mild  and  smiling 
admonition.  She  shook  her  finger  at  Howard. 
"Let  him  go  ahead,  Rachel,"  the  old  fellow  spoke 
up.  "Let  him  go  ahead  as  far  as  his  strength  will 
permit  him.  He's — he's  set  himself  against  us,  and 
as  he  runs  riot  in  the  privilege  of  the  spoiled  heir, 
why,  I  guess  we'll  have  to  stand  it — as  long  as  we 
can.  Of  course,  there'll  come  a  time  when  all 
bodily  and  moral  strength  will  fail  us,  but  until  then 
let  him  go  ahead.    Yes,  has  set  himself  against  us." 

"Us,  did  you  say,  Uncle  Billy?  You  are  evi- 
dently one  of  the  us.  Who's  the  other?"  Howard 
asked,  immensely  tickled,  for  the  warmth  of  the  fam- 
ily joke  was  most  genial  to  him. 

"I  don't  want  any  of  your  Uncle  Billying.  I  al- 
ways know  what  to  expect  when  you  begin  that." 

"I  began  it  the  other  night  and  ended  by  giving 
you  a  meerschaum  pipe,  didn't  I  ?" 

"Oh,  meerschaum.  Chalk — if  there  ever  was  a 
piece  used  by  a  tailor  to  mark  out  the  angles  of  a 
raw-boned  man — that  pipe's  chalk.  You  could 
no  more  color  it  than  you  could  a  door-knob." 

"A  friend  of  mine  brought  it  from  Germany,  Un- 
cle Billy." 

"Did  he  ?     He  brought  it  from  a  German  beer 


120  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

garden,  where  they  peddle  them  in  baskets  and  sell 
them  by  the  paper  bag  full,  like  popcorn.  I  had 
my  suspicions  at  the  time." 

"But  you  were  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  ac- 
ceptance because  your  pipe  was  so  strong." 

The  old  fellow  put  down  his  knife  and  fork  and, 
straightening  up,  looked  at  Howard  as  if  he  would 
bore  him  through.    "I  deny  your  slander,  sir." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Howard. 

"You  do  what?" 

"Deny  the  slander — unless  there  is  slander  in 
truth." 

"Howard,  you  remind  me  of  a  cart-horse,  tread- 
ing on  his  trace  chains.  You  remind  me — I  don't 
know  what  you  remind  me  of." 

"Of  a  cart-horse,  you  said." 

Again  Mrs.  Elbridge  admonished  him  not  to  irri- 
tate the  old  fellow,  but  did  it  so  laughingly  that  he 
accepted  it  more  as  a  spur  than  as  a  restraint ;  and 
Florence  pulled  at  his  sleeve,  but  more  in  con- 
nivance than  in  reproof.  Agnes  laughed  outright. 
She  declared  that  it  was  better  than  a  circus.  The 
old  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  her,  giving  her  a  long 
and  steady  gaze,  and  she  whispered  to  Florence  that 
even  the  pin-feathers  of  his  dignity  had  begun  to 
rise.    "Better  than  a  circus,"  he  replied.    "I  don't 


WILLIAM!  AGREED  WITH  THE  JUDGE.      121 

see  any  similarity  except  that  we  have  a  clown." 
He  winked  at  Mrs.  Elbridge,  as  if  he  expected  her 
to  rejoice  in  what  he  believed  to  be  a  victory  over 
the  young  man.  ^larriage  may  cripple  a  man's 
opportunities — in  some  respects  it  may  restrict  his 
range  of  vision,  but  it  renders  his  near  view  much 
more  nearly  exact.  Having  never  known  the  repres- 
sions of  the  married  state — ignorant  of  the  intellec- 
tual clearing-house  of  matrimony — William  was 
blind  to  many  things,  and  particularly  to  the  fact 
that  the  mother  hated  him  at  that  moment,  though 
she  smiled  when  he  winked  at  her. 

"Xot  much  like  modern  circuses,"  Howard  ad- 
mitted. 'They  have  a  whole  group  of  clowns,  while 
we  have  but  two,  at  most." 

"Howard,"  said  the  old  fellow,  "do  you  mean  to 
call  me  a  clown?" 

"Not  a  good  one,  Uncle  William." 

"Not  a  good  one.  Well,  sir,  I  want  to  say  that 
I'd  make  a  deuced  sight  better  one  than  you." 
When  emphasis  was  put  upon  the  word,  it  meant, 
with  Uncle  William,  not  the  opprobrious,  but  the 
commendable.  During  his  boyhood,  to  be  a  clown 
was  to  be  greater  than  a  judge,  greater,  if  possible, 
than  the  driver  of  a  stage-coach.  In  the  old  day, 
it  was  a  compliment  to  tell  a  boy  that  he  would 
make  a  good  clown. 


122  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"I  don't  doubt  you'd  make  a  good  clown,  Uncle 
Billy.    Aspiration  is,  within  itself,  a  sort  of  fitness." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"There  is  a  certain  genius  in  mere  ambition," 
Howard  went  on.  "If  we  yearn — and  yearn,  only, 
we  come  nearer  to  an  achievement  than  those  who 
don't  yearn.  Who  knows  that  genius  is  not  desire — 
just  desire,  and  nothing  more.  I  know  a  man  over 
at  St.  Jo  that  can  eat  more  cherries  than  any  man  in 
Michigan,  not  because  he  is  larger  than  any  of  the 
rest,  but  because  he  has  a  broader  appetite  for  cher- 
ries— more  yearning." 

William  turned  to  Mrs.  Elbridge.  "Rachel,  do 
you  think  he's  lost  what  little  sense  he  ever  had." 

"William,"  she  said,  "you  must  not  talk  to  me 
that  way.  I  won't  put  up  with  it,  sir.  I  am  sure  he 
has  as  good  sense  as  any — " 

"Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  turn  against  me  I  guess 
I'd  better  go,"  he  broke  in,  getting  up.  "I'll  go  to 
my  brother.    He  at  least  can  understand  me." 

The  Judge  was  in  the  office.  William  entered, 
and,  going  up  to  the  desk,  began  to  rummage 
among  some  papers.  "Trying  to  swim  ?"  the  Judge 
asked,  looking  up  from  a  document  spread  out  be- 
fore him  on  the  table. 

"No,  I'm  looking  for  a  cigar." 


WILLIAM  AGREED  WITH  THE  JUDGE.     123 

•'I  thought  you  were  trying  to  swim." 

WilUam  stepped  back  from  the  desk.  "Jo^^"'  I 
didn't  expect  such  treatment  after  our  hearty  agree- 
ment at  the  breakfast  table.  But  it's  what  I  get  for 
taking  sides.  The  ncMtral  is  the  only  man  that  gets 
through  this  life  in  good  shape." 

"And  is  that  the  reason,  William,  that  you  didn't 
preach— didn't  want  to  take  sides  against  the 
devil?" 

"If  I'm  not  wanted  here,  I  can  go  to  my  own 
room." 

"I  wish  you  would.  I  am  expecting  an  old 
client." 

"Oh,  I  can  go." 

"Can  you?" 

"John,  your  irritability  has  irritated  everybody  on 
the  place.  You  have  poisoned  our  atmosphere.  I 
will  leave  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Judge,  examining  the 
document  before  him.  After  a  time,  and  still  with- 
out looking  up,  he  added:    "Still  here?" 

"I  have  just  come  in,  sir,"  said  Howard.  The 
Judge  looked  up. 

"I  thought  it  was  William." 

"He  has  just  gone  out.    And  I  have  come  to  beg 


124  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

your  pardon  for  what  I  said  at  breakfast.  I  didn't 
mean  to  worry  you  ;  I — " 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  beg  my  pardon,  sir." 

''I  hope  not."  He  moved  closer,  with  one  hand 
resting  upon  the  table.  ''Father,  something  is 
wrong,  and — " 

''Most  decidedly." 

"But  won't  you  please  tell  me  what  it  is?  If 
the  fault  is  in  me  and  I  can  reach  it  I  will  pull  it 
out.  I  could  bear  many  crosses,  but  your  ill-opin- 
ion is  too  heavy." 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  him.  "To  your  lack  of 
virtue  you  have  added  silly  reading." 

"But  I  am  playing  in  a  farce  worse  than  any  I 
have  ever  read.  Be  frank  with  me.  You  have 
taught  me  frankness." 

"And  tried  to  teach  you  honesty." 

"Yes,  both  by  precept  and  example.  But  what  is 
to  come  of  it  all  when  you  treat  me  this  way  ?  Why 
don't  you  go  to  some  springs?" 

"Why  don't  you  leave  me  to  myself?" 

"I  am  almost  afraid.  You  rake  up  enmities 
against  me  when  you  are  alone,  it  seems ;  and  you 
pour  them  out  upon  me  when  we  meet.    Why  is  it  ?" 

The  Judge  waved  him  ofif.    "Go  away,"  he  said. 


THE  OLD  OFFICE.  125 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  OLD  OFFICE. 

The  office  in  La  Salle  Street  was  in  an  old-fash- 
ioned building,  with  heavily  ornamented  front.    The 
room  was  large,  high  of  ceiling,  with  a  grate  and  a 
marble  mantlepiece.    It  was  on  the  first  floor,  after 
the  short  flight  of  iron  steps  leading  from  the  pave- 
ment.    Once  it  had  been  active  with  business,  but 
now  few  clients  found  their  way  into  its  dingy  pre- 
cincts.    Occasionally  some  old-timer  would  come 
in,  but  upon  seeing  Howard  or  Bodney,  faces  of- 
fensively young  to  him,  would  go  out  again,  sighing 
over  the  degeneracy  of  the  day.     The  young  men 
had  often  advised  a  change  of  quarters,  apartments 
in  a  steel  building,  but  the  Judge  would  not  con- 
sent.    The    old    room  was    sentiment's    heritage. 
Many  a  famous  man  had  trod  the  rough  carpet  on 
the  floor ;  many  a  time  had  the  dry  eye  of  the  tired 
lawyer  watered  at  the  wit  of  Emery  Storrs  ;  and  In- 
gersoll,  warm  with  fellowship  and  wine,  walking  up 
and  down,  had  poured  out  the  overflow  of  his  magic 


126  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

brain.  How  intellectual  were  its  surroundings  then, 
and  now  how  different!  The  great  advocate  was 
gone,  and  in  his  stead  sat  the  real-estate  lawyer, 
emotionless,  keen-eyed,  searching  out  the  pedigree 
of  a  title  to  a  few  feet  of  soil — narrow,  direct,  dys- 
peptic, money-dwarfed. 

After  leaving  home,  Howard  went  straightway 
to  the  down-town  office,  and  there,  amid  the  dust 
raised  by  the  negro  who  was  sweeping,  he  found 
Goyle,  waiting  for  Bodney.  "I  have  taken  posses- 
sion," said  Goyle. 

"All  right.  And  you  are  taking  more  dust  than 
is  good  for  you." 

"I  don't  mind  that.    Where  is  Bodney?" 

"He  hadn't  got  up  when  I  left  home.  He  was 
up  all  night  with  a  sick  friend,  I  believe,  and  is  not 
likely  to  be  down  before  the  afternoon." 

Goyle  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  will  come  in  again 
about  three  o'clock.  How  is  business  with  you?" 
He  did  not  get  up. 

"The  business  of  waiting  is  good.  It  is  about  all 
a  young  lawyer  need  expect."  Howard  sat  down, 
telling  the  negro  to  leave  off  sweeping ;  and  Goyle, 
leaning  back,  put  his  feet  upon  the  window  ledge. 
He  was  never  in  haste  to  leave.  It  was  one  of  his 
sayings  that  he  was  looking  for  a  soft  seat,  and  he 


THE  OLD  OFFICE.  127 

appeared  now  to  have  found  one.  He  gazed  out 
into  the  rumbHng  thoroughfare,  at  men  of  all  ages 
passing  one  another,  pushing,  jamming,  limping, 
some  on  crutches,  some  tottering,  some  strong  of 
limb,  all  with  eager  faces.  "Rushing  after  the  dol- 
lar," said  Goyle. 

"Or  fleeing  from  necessity,"  replied  Howard. 

"Yes,  and  hard  pressed  by  the  enemy.  But  they 
have  made  their  enemy  powerful — have  built  up 
their  necessities.  Once  a  shadow  lay  upon  the 
ground,  a  harmless  thing;  but  they  breathed  hot 
breath  upon  it  and  it  became  a  thing  of  life,  jumped 
up  and  took  after  them.  I  hate  the  whole  scheme." 
He  waved  his  hand,  and  Howard  sat  looking  at 
him — at  the  hair  curling  about  his  forehead,  at  his 
Greek  nose;  and  he  wondered  why  one  so  seem- 
ingly fitted  for  the  chase  should  express  such  con- 
tempt for  it.  He  spoke  of  it,  and  Goyle  turned  to- 
ward him  with  a  cold  smile.  "You  have  heard," 
said  he,  "of  the  fellow  who  would  rather  be  a  cat 
in  hell  without  claws.  Well,  that's  what  I  am,  and 
where  I  am  when  thrown  out  there."  He  nodded 
toward  the  street,  and  then  lazily  taking  out  a  ciga- 
rette, lighted  it. 

"I  don't  believe  that,"  said  Howard.  "I  believe 
that  you  are  well  fitted,  except,  possibly,  by  disposi- 
tion.   You  lack  patience." 


128  .     JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Patience!  It  doesn't  admit  of  patience.  Do 
those  fellows  out  there  look  patient?" 

"A  man  may  run  and  be  patient." 

*'And  he  may  also  run  and  be  a  fool." 

''Or  be  a  bigger  fool  and  not  run.  I  am  a  be- 
liever in  the  world — in  man." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Goyle.  "I  know  that  the  world 
is  a  trap  and  that  man  is  caught.  Puppies  play,  but 
the  old  dog  lies  down.  He  knows  that  life  is  a 
farce." 

"The  old  dog  lies  down,  it  is  true,"  Howard  re- 
plied, "but  he  dreams  of  his  youth  and  barks  in  his 
dream." 

"And  calls  himself  a  fool  when  he  awakes.  It  is 
the  same  with  the  old  man.  There  comes  a  time 
when  he  loses  confidence  even  in  those  who  are 
nearest  him."  Out  of  the  sharp  corner  of  his  eye 
he  shot  a  glance  at  Howard  and  saw  his  counte- 
nance change.  An  old  man,  shriveled  and  wretched, 
with  feather  dusters  for  sale,  came  shambling  into 
the  room.  Goyle  glanced  at  him,  and  when  he  was 
gone,  turned  to  Howard  and  said :  "Ask  his  opin- 
ion of  the  world.  He  is  your  old  dog  who  dreamed 
and  barked  in  his  dream." 

"Goyle,  I  don't  like  the  position  you  take.  My 
experience  and  my  reading  teach  me  better." 


THE  OLD  OFFICE.  129 

Goyle  glanced  at  him  again.  "Your  reading,  be- 
cause what  you  read  was  written  to  flatter  hope — to 
sell.  Your  experience  is  not  ripe.  It  is  not  even 
green  fruit.  It  is  a  bud.  Oh,  of  course  there  are 
some  old  men,  your  father,  for  instance,  who — " 

'Well,  what  about  him?" 

"Nothing,  only  he  is  by  nature  fitted  to  smile  at 
everything." 

Hov/ard  got  up,  went  over  to  a  bookcase,  took 
down  a  book,  put  it  back,  went  to  the  open  door, 
and  stood  there  looking  at  a  doctor's  sign,  just 
across  the  hall.  Goyle  got  up  with  a  yawn,  came 
walking  slowly  toward  the  door,  and  Howard,  hear- 
ing him,  but  without  looking  round,  stepped  aside 
to  let  him  pass  out.  In  the  hall  he  halted  to  repeat 
that  he  would  return  during  the  afternoon. 

"You  have  the  privilege  to  come  and  go  as  often 
as  you  like,  being  George's  friend,"  said  Howard, 
"but,  so  far  as  you  and  I  are  concerned,  I  don't 
think  we  are  suited  to  each  other." 

Goyle  laughed  and  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two. 
"Why,  on  account  of  my  nonsense  just  now?  That 
was  all  guff ;  I  didn't  mean  it.  It  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  for  a  man  to  condemn  the  whole  of 
creation,  and  I  talk  that  way  when  my  mind  is  too 

9 


130  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

dull  to  act.  Why,  I  am  going  out  now  to  knock  an 
eye  tooth  out  of  the  wolf." 

"And  you  didn't' mean  what  you  said  about  old 
men  ?" 

"Not  a  word  of  it." 

"Why  did  you  happen  to  speak  of  my  father?" 

"Merely  to  refute  what  I  had  said  about  old  men 
in  general.    Well,  so  long." 

Howard  went  into  the  doctor's  office,  as  musty  a 
den  as  ever  a  fox  inhabited.  The  physician  was  an 
old  man,  who  had  no  future  and  who  prescribed  in 
the  past.  During  the  best  years  of  his  life  he  had 
dozed  or  talked  under  the  influence  of  opium,  so 
given  to  harmless  fabrication  when  awake  that  it 
followed  him  into  his  slumber,  snoring  a  lie ;  now 
cured  of  the  habit  but  not  of  the  evil  it  had  wrought. 
When  Howard  entered  the  old  man  was  reading  a 
medical  journal  of  1849,  ^^^  ^^  glanced  up  disap- 
pointed to  see  the  visitor  looking  so  well.  He  had 
met  Howard  many  a  time,  but  his  memory  was 
short. 

"Ah,  come  in,  sir.  Have  a  seat.  You  are — let 
me  see. 

"My  office  is  just  across  the  hall." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  You  are  in  the — the  bro- 
kerage business.    And  your  name  is — " 


THE  OLD  OFFICE.  131 

'*I  am  trying  to  be  a  lawyer.  Elbridge  is  my 
name." 

"Of  course  it  is.  I  used  to  know  your  father — 
was  called  in  consultation  just  before  he  died." 

"Then  it  must  have  been  since  I  left  the  house 
this  morning." 

"Ah,  let  me  see.  Elbridge — the  Judge.  I'm 
wrong,  of  course.  It  was  Elsworth.  How  is  your 
father?" 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  talk  about,  and  I  am 
sorry  that  you  do  not  recall  him  more  vividly.  I 
wanted  to  ask  your  opinion." 

"Why,  now  I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know  myself. 
What  is  it  you  wish  to  consult  me  about?  His 
heaUh?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know  how  to  get  at  it.  You  know 
he  has  been  a  very  busy  man — working  day  and 
night  for  years ;  and  I  wanted  to  ask  if  a  sudden 
breaking  off  isn't  dangerous — that  is,  not  exactly 
dangerous,  but  likely  to  induce  a  change  in  disposi- 
tion?" 

The  doctor  looked  wise,  with  his  hand  flat  upon 
the  medical  journal,  and  as  it  had  been  printed  in 
the  drowsy  afternoon  of  a  slow  day,  seemed  to  in- 
spire caution  against  a  quick  opinion. 

"I  hold,  and  have  held  for  years,"  said  he,  "that  a 


132  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

complete  revolution  in  a  man's  affairs,  sudden  riches 
or  sudden  poverty — the  er — the  withdrawing  of  vital 
forces  necessary  to  a  continuous  strain,  is  a  shock 
to  the  system,  and  therefore  deleterious.  It  is  un- 
questionably a  fact,  not  only  known  to  the  medical 
fraternity,  but  to  ordinary  observation,  that  incen- 
tive in  the  aged  is  a  sort  of  continuance  of  youth,  in 
other  words,  to  make  myself  perfectly  clear,  the  im- 
petus of  youth  when  unchecked,  goes  farinto  old 
age — when  the  pursuit  has  not  been  changed;  and 
therefore  a  sudden  halting  is  bad  for  the  system.  Is 
your  father's  health  impaired?" 

"I  can't  say  that  it  is.  He  appears  to  be  strong, 
but  his  temper  is  not  of  the  best — toward  me.  To- 
ward the  others  he  is  just  the  same." 

'*Ah,  not  unusual  in  such  cases.  It  so  happened 
that  a  sudden  change  must  have  taken  place  in  him, 
and  as  you  were  doubtless  the  first  one  to  come  in 
contact  with  him  after  the  change,  his — his  displeas- 
ure, if  I  may  be  permitted  the  term,  fell  upon  you." 

"But  I  was  not  the  first  one." 

"Um,  a  complication.  I  shall  have  to  study  that 
up  a  little.    Perhaps  I'd  better  see  him." 

''Oh,  no,  don't  do  that.  It  really  amounts  to 
nothing.  I  consulted  you  because  you  were  well 
acquainted  with  him.     And  I  am  now  inclined  to 


THE  OLD  OFFICE.  133 

think  that  I  have  made  more  of  it  than  it  really  is. 
How  are  you  getting  along?"  Howard  asked,  to 
change  the  subject. 

''Never  better,  sir,  I  am  pleased  to  say.  Of  course 
medicine  has  degenerated,  splitting  up  into  all  sorts 
of  specialties,  but  there  are  a  few  people  who  don't 
want  to  be  humbugged.  Well,  I  am  glad  you 
called,"  he  added  as  Howard  turned  to  go.  ''Give 
my  regards  to  your  father." 

Howard  returned  to  the  office,  took  up  a  book 
which  held  in  closer  affinity  the  laws  of  verse  than 
the  laws  of  the  land,  and  lying  down  upon  a  leather 
lounge,  was  borne  away  by  the  gentle  tide  of  a 
rhythmic  sea. 


134  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


WALKED  AND   REPENTED. 


A  man  can  be  more  repentant  when  he  walks  than 
when  he  rides.  The  world's  most  meditative  high- 
way is  that  road  which  we  are  told  is  paved  with 
good  intentions;  and  strolling  along  it,  our  deter- 
mination to  reform  becomes  stronger  at  each  step 
until — until  something  occurs  to  change  it  all. 
Bodney  walked  down  town.  And  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  fancied  that  he  found  the  very  bottom 
of  his  mind,  and  thereon  lay  a  resolution,  an  oath 
self-made,  self-sworn  to  tell  Howard  the  truth  and 
to  take  the  consequences  no  matter  what  they  might 
be.  He  had  intended,  upon  getting  out  of  bed  to 
make  his  confession  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  he 
would  have  done  so,  he  fully  believed,  had  not  the 
Judge  been  engaged  with  a  client.  But  perhaps 
after  all  it  would  better  serve  the  purposes  of  justice 
to  confess  to  Howard.  He  was  the  one  most  deep- 
ly injured.  Yes,  he  would  go  at  once  to  Howard 
and  tell  him  the  truth.    It  would  of  course  involve 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  135 

Goyle,  but  he  ought  to  be  involved ;  he  was  a  scoun- 
drel. Perhaps  they  might  both  be  sent  to  the  peni- 
tentiary. No  matter,  the  confession  must  be  made. 
He  passed  the  building  wherein  the  night  before  he 
had  agonized  under  the  frown  of  hard  luck ;  he 
halted  and  looked  into  the  entry-way,  at  the  stairs 
worn  and  splintered  by  the  heavy  feet  of  the  unfortu- 
nate. Some  strange  influence  had  fallen  upon  him, 
some  strength  not  gathered  by  his  own  vital  forces 
had  come  to  him,  and  now  he  knew  that  no  longer 
could  he  be  a  slave  held  by  chains  forged  in  that 
house  of  bondage.  As  he  turned  away  he  met  a 
man  who  had  been  in  the  game  the  night  before. 
His  face  was  bright  and  he  did  not  look  like  a 
slave. 

''How  did  you  come  out?"  Bodney  asked. 

"I  w'as  ninety  in  when  you  left,  and  I  pull  out 
sixty  winner." 

"You  did?    You  were  losing  when  I  left." 

'*Yes,  but  they  can't  beat  a  man  all  the  time.  I 
tell  you  it  would  put  me  in  the  hole  if  I  didn't  win. 
I  owe  at  three  or  four  places,  and  I  go  around  today 
and  pay  up." 

Then,  w^ith  a  feeling  like  a  sudden  sickness  at  the 
stomach,  came  the  recollection  of  the  druggist  and 
the  preacher,  obligations  not  to  be  discharged  that 


136  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

day.  Long  after  the  moral  nature  has  been  weak- 
ened, the  poker  player  may  continue  to  respect  his 
own  word,  or  rather  he  may  not  respect  it  himself 
but  may  desire  others  to  do  so.  Unless  his  income 
is  large  he  must  operate  mainly  upon  borrowed  cap- 
ital, and  breaking  his  word  cripples  his  resources. 
And  then,  after  having  lost,  there  is  a  self-shame  in 
having  borrowed,  a  confession  of  weakness.  He 
condemns  himself  for  not  having  had  strength 
enough  to  quit  when  he  found  that  there  was  no 
chance  to  get  even.  "There  never  is  a  chance  to  get 
even,"  Bodney  mused  as  he  walked  on  toward  the 
office.  'The  old  fellow  who  has  worn  himself  out 
at  the  cursed  game  says  so  and  I  believe  it."  I  will 
tell  Howard — nothing  shall  shake  my  resolution. 
I  will  simply  cut  my  throat  before  I'll  sink  myself 
further  in  this  iniquity.  By  nature  I  am  not  dishon- 
est. If  I  hadn't  met  that  fellow  Goyle  I  might— but 
I'll  not  think  of  him.  Now  that  fellow  didn't  play 
any  better  cards  than  I  did,  was  nearly  a  hundred 
in  and  pulled  out  sixty  ahead.  And  he  has  paid  his 
debts  while  I  must  dodge.  I  wonder  how  much  I 
have  lost  within  the  past  two  months.  On  an  aver- 
age of  fifty  dollars  a  sitting.  That  won't  do.  I  had 
money  enough  to — but  I  won't  think  about  it — 
won't  do  any  good,  and  besides  it  is  over  with  now." 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  137 

He  found  Howard  in  the  office  writing.  "A 
brief?"  said  Bodney,  sitting  down. 

''In  one  sense— short  meter,"  Howard  repHed. 

"What,  poetry?" 

"Rhyme.  I  come  by  it  naturally,  you  know. 
Have  you  heard  from  your  friend  today,  the  one 
you  sat  up  with  ?" 

"Yes,  he's  better." 

"Goyle  was  here— said  he'd  be  back  this  after- 
noon." 

"Didn't  leave  any   money— didn't   say  what  he 

wanted,  did  he  ?" 

"No.  I  think  he  wants  to  talk  more  than  any- 
thing else.  He  is  a  smart  fellow,  George,  but  I  am 
beginning  to  find  fault  with  him.  I  don't  like  his 
principles." 

"Perhaps  he  has  none,"  Bodney  replied. 

"What,  have  you  begun  to—" 

"Oh,  no,  I  merely  said  that." 

"That's  the  way  he  talks — makes  a  statement  and 
then  declares  he  didn't  mean  it.  By  the  way,  I'm 
going  to  get  out  of  this  office.  There's  no  use  stay- 
ing here.  If  father  wants  to  keep  it,  let  him ;  but 
you  and  I  ought  to  be  in  a  more  modern  building. 
We  have  played  at  the  law  long  enough.  What  do 
you  say?" 


138  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"I  don't  know  but  you  are  right.  I  would  like  to 
do  something.    Has  anyone  else  called?" 

"Yes,  Bradley  was  here." 

"Bradley  !    What  did  he  want?" 

"He  didn't  say  what  he  wanted." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  inquired  about  your  friend — the  divinity 
student." 

Bodney  was  silent,  and  to  him  it  seemed  that 
he  was  groping  about  in  his  own  mind,  searching 
for  his  resolution,  but  he  could  not  find  it.  The 
preacher  might  have  asked  about  the  divinity  stu- 
dent, the  wretch  mused,  but  of  course  he  wanted 
ten  dollars ;  and  what  if  it  should  be  known  at  the 
house  that  he  had  borrowed  the  money? 

"Howard,  can  you  let  me  have  twenty-five  dol- 
lars?" 

"What,  haven't  you — you  any  money?" 

"None  that  I  can  get  hold  of.  I  haven't  said 
anything  about  it,  but  the  fact  is,  I  have  invested 
in  suburban  lots,  and  can  make  a  good  profit  any 
time  I  care  to  sell  out,  but  I  don't  want  to  sell  just 
now." 

"Ah,  business  man,  eh?"  said  Howard,  crumpling 
the  paper  which  he  had  covered  with  rhymes  and 
throwing  it  into  the  waste  basket.     "Well,  I  am 


Bodney  took  the  money. 


>  J  ,  '   '    ^    ^ 


J  >    J    3 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  139 

going  to  do  something  of  that  sort  myself.  I  am 
glad  you  told  me.  Yes,  I'll  let  you  have  twenty- 
five.     I  have  just  about  that  amount  with  me." 

Bodney  took  the  money  and  seized  his  hat.  "If 
Goyle  comes  in,  tell  him  I  don't  know  when  I'll 
be  back.  By  the  way,  do  you  suppose  Bradley 
went  home  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so — in  fact,  he  remarked  that  he 
was  going  home  to  do  some  work.     Why?" 

"Nothing,  only  he  seemed  interested  in  the 
young  fellow  I  sat  up  with— wanted  to  go  with  me 
to  see  him,  in  fact." 

With  a  determination  to  pay  the  druggist  and  to 
go  at  once  to   Bradley's  house,   Bodney  left  the 
office,  still  wondering,  though,  what  had  become  of 
his  resolve  to  make  a  confession  to  Howard.     But 
he  woul'd  fortify  himself  against  trivial  annoyances 
and  then,  morally  stronger,  he  could  confess.     As 
he  was  crossing  the  street  he  thought  of  the  fellow 
who  had  won  sixty  dollars.    "No  better  player  than 
I  am,"  he  mused.    "He  hung  on,  that's  all.    Now, 
when  I  pay  the  preacher  and  the  druggist  I'll  have 
five  dollars  left.    And  with  that  five  dollars  I  might 
win  out.     If  I  had  held  to  my  resolution  not  to 
stay  in  on  so  many  four  flushes  I  might  have  won 
out  anyway.    But  the  other  fellows  filled  flushes  and 


140  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

straights  against  me.  Why  couldn't  I  against 
them  ?  Simply  because  it  wasn't  my  day.  But  this 
may  be  my  day.  My  day  must  come  some  time. 
As  that  fellow  said,  'they  can't  beat  a  man  all  the 
time.'  Why  not  go  to  the  club  first?  Then,  if  I 
win,  I  can  easily  meet  my  obligations." 

He  went  to  the  club.  The  game  was  full,  but  a 
''house"  player  got  up  and  gave  him  a  seat.  He 
bought  ten  dollars'  worth  of  chips,  and  the  first 
hand  he  picked  up  was  three  queens.  The  pot  was 
opened  ahead  of  him  and  another  man  came  in. 
Bodney  raised ;  they  stood  it,  and  drew  one  card 
each.  To  disguise  his  hand,  Bodney  drew  one, 
holding  up  a  six.  He  caught  a  six.  The  opener 
bet  a  white  chip.  The  next  man  raised  him  three 
dollars.  Bodney  raised  all  he  had.  The  opener 
laid  down  ;  the  other  man  studied.  "Is  it  that  bad  ?" 
he  asked,  peeping  at  the  tips  of  his  cards.  Bod- 
ney said  nothing ;  his  blood  was  tingling,  but  in  his 
eyes  there  was  a  far-away  look. 

"It's  up  to  you,  Grifif,"  said  an  impatient  fellow. 

"Yes,  so  I  see;  but  I'm  playing  this  hand. 
Raised  it  and  drew  one  card,  then  raised  a  one- 
card  draw.    Well,  I've  got  to  call  you." 

"Queen  full." 

"Beats  a  flush.    Take  the  hay." 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  141 

And  now  Bodney's  troubles  all  were  luminous. 
The  wine  of  the  game  flowed  through  his  veins  and 
made  his  heart  drunk  with  delight.     He  held  a  pat 
flush,  won  a  big  pot  and  felt  a  delicious  coolness 
in  his  mind,  the  chamber  wherein  he  had  groped 
through  darkness,  searching  for  the  lost  resolution. 
But  now  it  was  light,  and  was  crowded  with  charm- 
ing fancies.  He  bubbled  wit  and  simmered  humor, 
and  the  look-out  man  said,  "you  bet,  he's  a  good 
one."    His  stack  was  building  so  high  that  he  could 
hardly  keep  from  knocking  it  over— did  overturn  it 
with  a  crash,  and  a  loud  voice  called  to  the  porter: 
''Chip  on  the  floor."    The  man  attendant  upon  the 
desk  came  over,  put  his  hand  on  Bodney's  shoulder 
and  said :    ''Give  it  to  'em  ;  eat  'em  up." 

In  the  game  there  was  a  mind-reader,  and  they 
called  him  Professor.  In  his  "studio"  he  told 
marvelous  things,  brought  up  the  past  and  read 
the  future.  Hundreds  of  persons  consulted  him, 
race-track  men  looking  for  tips,  board  of  trade 
men  wanting  to  know  the  coming  trend  of  the 
market;  and  in  the  twilight  came  the  blushing 
maiden  to  ask  if  her  lover  were  true.  In  deepest 
secret  you  might  write  a  dozen  questions,  put  them 
in  your  pocket  and  button  your  coat,  but  the  Pro- 
fessor could  read  them.    He  was  unquestionably  a 


142  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

mind-reader — till  he  sat  down  to  play  poker — and 
then  his  marvelous  powers  failed  him.  The  most 
unintuitive  man  at  the  table  could  beat  him.  Bod- 
ney  slaughtered  him.  ''Can  you  make  those  things 
every  time?"  said  the  Professor,  calling  a  three- 
dollar  bet. 

"Not  every  time,"  Bodney  replied,  spreading  a 
straight,  "but  I  made  it  this  time." 

"You  can  make  them  every  time  against  me. 
You  are  the  luckiest  man  I  ever  saw.  Do  you  al- 
ways win  ?" 

"I  have  lost  more  within  the  last  two  months 
than  any  man  that  comes  up  the  stairs." 

"That's  right,"  said  the  look-out. 

One  wretched  fellow,  who  had  been  struggling 
hard,  got  up  broke.  He  strove  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned, but  despair  was  written  on  his  face.  As  he 
walked  across  the  room  toward  the  door  the  man  at 
the  desk  called  to  him.  He  turned  with  the  light  of 
a  vague  hope  in  his  eye.  In  consideration  of  his 
hard  luck  was  the  house  about  to  stake  him? 
"Have  a  cigar  before  you  go,"  said  the  man  at  the 
desk.  The  light  went  out  of  the  wretch's  eye.  He 
took  the  cigar  and  drooped  away,  to  beg  for  an 
extension  from  his  landlord,  to  plead  with  the 
grocer,  to  lie  to  his  wife. 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  143 

At  six  o'clock  Bodney  cashed  in  one  hundred 
and  four  dollars.  He  would  eat  dinner  with  them, 
but  he  would  not  play  afterward.  He  had  tried 
that  before.  His  eye-tooth  had  not  only  been  cut ; 
it  had  been  sharpened  to  the  point  of  keenest  wis- 
dom. While  he  was  at  the  dinner  table  Goyle  came 
in  and  took  a  seat  behind  him. 

"Understand  you  sewed  up  the  game,"  said  the 
master. 

'Tve  got  just  about  enough  to  pay  up  what  I 
owe,"  replied  the  slave. 

"Come  ofif.    Let  me  have  twenty." 
"I  can't  do  it— swear  I  can't.     I  owe  all  round 
town.    I  let  you  have  ten  yesterday,  you  know." 

"That's  all  right.    You'll  get  it  again— you  know 
that.     Let  me  have  twenty." 
"I  can't  possibly  do  it." 

But  he  did.  Goyle  got  up  and  walked  out  into 
the  hall  with  him,  put  his  hand  on  his  arm  and 
stood  a  long  time,  talking,  gazing  into  his  eyes.  So 
Bodney  gave  him  the  money  and  hastened  away, 
his  spirits  somewhat  dampened.  But  his  heart  was 
still  light  enough  to  keep  him  pleased  with  himself. 
Luck  had  surely  turned.  He  would  win  enough 
to  replace  the  money  taken  from  the  safe,  and 
then  he  would  make  a  confession.     But,  that  fel- 


144  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

low  Goyle !  What  was  the  secret  of  his  infatuating 
influence?  How  did  he  inspire  common  words 
with  such  power,  invest  mere  slang  with  such  com- 
mand ?  But  his  influence  could  not  last ;  indeed,  it 
was  weakening.  And  when  thus  he  mused  his 
heart  grew  lighter.  "He  couldn't  make  me  aid  and 
abet  a  robbery  now,"  he  said.  ''I  would  turn  on 
him  and  rend  him.  Let  him  take  the  money.  The 
debt  is  now  large  enough  to  make  him  shun  me." 
With  a  smile  and  a  merry  salutation  he  stepped 
into  the  drug  store,  and  handed  the  druggist  ten 
dollars,  apologizing  for  not  having  called  during 
the  day,  but  he  had  been  busy  and  did  not  sup- 
pose that  it  would  make  any  particular  difference. 
The  druggist  assured  him  that  it  did  not.  Good 
fortune  in  its  many  phases  may  be  taken  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  but  the  return  of  borrowed  money 
is  nearly  always  a  surprise.  The  druggist  gave  him 
a  cigar. 

'Thank  you,"  said  Bodney.  "By  the  way,  have 
you  an  envelope  and  stamp?" 

He  found  an  envelope,  but  no  stamp.  A  young 
woman  who  had  held  his  telephone  for  ten  min- 
utes had  bought  the  last  one.  It  was  of  no  conse- 
quence; Bodney  could  get  one  at  the  next  corner. 
Tearing  a  scrap  of  paper  out  of  his  notebook  and 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  145 

putting  it  upon  a  show  case,  he  scribbled  a  few  Hnes 
upon  it,  folded  a  ten  dollar  note  in  the  paper,  en- 
closed it  in  the  envelope  and  directed  it  to  Bradley. 

"I  guess  that  ought  to  be  safe  enough,"  he  said. 

'*I  don't  know,"  replied  the  druggist. 

''Well,  I'll  risk  it.  Again  let  me  thank  you  for 
your  kindness.  It  isn't  often  that  I  am  forced  to 
borrow,  and  wouldn't  have  done  so  last  night  but 
for—" 

''Oh,  that's  all  right.  Come  in  again,"  he  added, 
as  Bodney  stepped  out.  At  the  next  corner  he 
stamped  his  letter  and  went  out  to  drop  it  into  a 
box,  but  before  reaching  it  was  accosted  by  some- 
one, the  Professor  v/hom  he  had  slaughtered  in  the 
game. 

"How  did  you  come  out?"  Bodney  asked. 

"You  broke  me." 

"Didn't  you  sit  in  after  dinner?" 

"For  about  three  minutes — first  hand  finished  me. 
I  see  you  have  a  letter  there  with  ten  dollars  in  it." 

"What!    How  do  you  know?" 

"And  a  note  written  with  a  pencil." 

"Why,  that's  marvelous.    How  do  you  do  it?" 

The  Professor  smiled.  "It  is  the  line  of  my  busi- 
ness. Why  don't  you  come  up  to  my  place  some 
time?    I  can  tell  you  many  things." 

10 


146  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

It  flashed  through  Bodney's  mind  that  he  might 
tell  him  many  things,  and  he  shrank  back  from  him. 
"I  will,  one  of  these  days,"  he  said,  and  strode  off 
without  dropping  his  letter  into  the  box.  He  put 
it  into  his  pocket,  intending  to  stop  at  the  next 
corner,  but  forgot  it.  ''Now,  what?"  he  mused. 
''Beheve  I'll  go  home."  He  got  on  a  car,  but 
stepped  off  before  it  started.  He  went  to  a  hotel, 
into  the  reading  room,  and  took  up  a  newspaper, 
but  found  nothing  interesting  in  it.  His  thoughts 
were  upon  the  game.  In  his  mind  was  the  red  glare 
of  a  pat  diamond  flush.  He  could  see  it  as  vividly 
as  if  it  had  been  held  before  his  eye.  Was  it  pro- 
phetic ?  He  strolled  out,  not  in  the  direction  of  the 
Wexton  Club ;  but  he  changed  his  course,  and  was 
soon  mounting  the  stairs.  There  was  no  seat,  but 
the  man  at  the  desk  said  that  there  were  enough 
players  to  start  another  game.  The  game  was 
organized  with  four  regulars,  Bodney  and  another 
fool.  The  regulars  took  twenty  dollars'  worth  of 
chips  apiece;  the  two  fools  took  ten,  and  within 
ten  minutes  Bodney  was  buying  more.  A  man  got 
up  from  the  other  table,  and  Bodney  returned  to 
his  old  seat,  where  he  knew  that  luck  waited  for 
him.  The  desk  man  came  over  to  him.  "That 
other  gentleman  is  number  one,"  said  he.     Just 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  U7 

then  a  new  arrival  took  the  seat  which  Bodney  had 
vacated  and  number  one  called  out :  "Let  him  go 
ahead.  I'll  stay  here."  And  there,  sure  enough, 
was  the  pat  diamond  flush.  Wasn't  it  singular  that 
he  should  have  seen  it  glowing  upon  the  surface  of 
his  mind?  And  wasn't  it  fortunate  that  the  pot 
was  opened  ahead  of  him?  He  raised  and  the 
opener  stayed  and  drew  one  card.  He  bet  a  white 
chip  and  Bodney  raised.  The  opener  gave  him 
what  was  termed  the  ''back  wash,"  re-raised.  Then 
the  beauty  of  the  flush  began  to  fade.  Could  it  be 
that  the  fellow — the  very  same  offensive  fellow,  who 
had  beaten  him  before— could  have  filled  his  hand  ? 
Or,  had  he  drawn  to  threes  and  "sized"  Bodney  for  a 
revengeful  "bluff?" 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  call  you,"  said  Bodney.  He 
put  in  his  money  and  the  offensive  fellow  showed 
him  a  ten  full. 

"You  always  beat  me." 

"I  do  whenever  I  can." 

"But  you  make  it  a  point  to  beat  me." 

"Make  it  a  point  to  beat  anybody." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  any  abuse  and  I  won't  have 
it." 

"Play  cards,  boys,"  said  the  look-out. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  worms?"  said  the 
offensive  fellow,  looking  at  Bodney. 


148  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

*Tlay  like  brothers,"  spoke  up  the  look-out. 

At  a  little  after  eleven  o'clock  Bodney  came  down 
as  heavy  as  a  drowned  man.  His  heart  was  full  of 
bitterness.  He  cursed  the  world  and  all  that  was 
in  it.  He  called  on  God  to  strike  him  dead.  Then 
he  swore  that  there  could  be  no  God;  there  was 
nothing  but  evil  and  he  was  the  embodiment  of  it. 
But  if  he  had  only  ten  dollars  he  could  win  out. 
He  had  won,  and  it  was  but  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  could  win  again.  Any  old  player,  imbued 
with  the  superstitions  of  the  game,  would  have 
told  him  that  to  go  back  was  to  lose.  "V\\  go  over 
and  see  that  druggist  again,"  he  mused.  "Strange 
that  I  have  lived  in  this  town  all  my  life  and  don't 
know  where  to  get  money  after  eleven  o'clock  at 
night.  I  ought  to  have  set  my  stakes  better  than 
that.  And  now,  what  excuse  can  I  give  for  coming 
back  to  borrow  again  so  soon?  Perhaps  he  isn't 
there."  Nor  was  he  there.  Bodney  looked  in  with 
anxiety  toward  the  show  case  behind  which  he  ex- 
pected to  see  his  friend,  and  with  contempt  at  the 
soda-water  man.  He  thought  of  the  envelope.  He 
pictured  himself  standing  there,  smiling,  a  few 
hours  before — and  like  an  arrow  came  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  note  directed  to  the  preacher.  He 
wheeled  about,  rushed  across  the  street,  jostling 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  149 

through  the  crowd  which  was  still  thick  upon  the 
sidewalk,  raced  around  the  corner,  swam  through 
another  crowd,  bounded  across  another  street  just 
in  front  of  a  cable  train,  and.  breathless,  panted  up 
the  stairway  leading  to  the  Wexton.  Before  touch- 
ing the  electric  button  he  tore  open  the  envelope, 
took  out  the  money,  destroyed  the  note;  he 
touched  the  button  and  wondered  if  the  black  porter 
would  ever  come.  Undoubtedly  the  game  must 
have  broken  up.  No,  there  was  the  black  face,  grim 
in  the  vitreous  light.  And  there  was  a  vacant  seat, 
his  old,  lucky  seat. 

"Bring  me  ten,"  he  called,  as  he  sat  down.    And 
addressing    the  look-out,  he  asked    if  Goyle  had 
been  there.     He  had  played  a  few  pots  after  din- 
ner, but  had  quit  early. 
"Did  he  win?" 

"I  think  he  win  a  few  dollars.     Said  he  had  an 
engagement  on  the  West  Side." 

''Leave  me  out,"  said  a  man,  counting  his  impos- 
ing stack  of  chips.  "Never  mind,  I'll  play  this 
one."  A  hand  had  been  dealt  him.  "But  I've  got  to 
go  after  this  hand ;  oughtn't  to  stay  as  long  as  I 
do.  Got  to  catch  a  train.  Who  opened  it?" 
"I  did,"  replied  a  regular. 
"Raise  you." 


ISO  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"So  soon?  Well,  I'll  have  to  trot  you.  Tear 
me  one  off  the  roof." 

"I'll  play  these,"  said  the  man  who  had  to  catch 
a  train. 

"You'd  better  take  some.  He  won't  come  round 
again.    Well,  I'll  chip  it  up  to  you." 

"Raise  you  three." 

The  regular  raised  him  back.  The  man  who  had 
to  go  raised,  and  the  regular  fired  back  at  him,  nor 
did  the  contest  end  here,  but  when  it  did  end  the 
regular  spread  an  ace  full  to  overcast  with  the  shade 
of  defeat  three  queens  and  a  pair.  And  the  man  who 
had  been  in  a  hurry  continued  to  sit  there.  At  short 
intervals,  during  half  an  hour  or  more,  he  had 
snapped  his  watch,  but  he  did  not  snap  it  now. 
Trains  might  come  and  trains  might  go,  but  he  was 
not  compelled  to  catch  them ;  he  lost  his  last  chip, 
bought  more,  lost,  and,  finally,  accepted  carfare 
from  the  man  at  the  desk.  Bodney  won,  and  the 
world  threw  off  its  sables  and  put  on  bright  attire, 
and  at  two  o'clock  he  thought  of  cashing  in,  though 
not  quite  even.  He  lacked  just  seventy-five  cents — 
three  red  chips.  He  would  play  one  more  pot.  He 
lost,  and  now  he  was  two  dollars  behind,  the  pot 
having  been  opened  for  a  dollar  and  twenty-five 
cents.    Pretty  soon  he  had  a  big  hand  beaten. 


WALKED  AND  REPENTED.  151 

"I  see  my  finish,"  he  said. 

"You  can't  win  every  pot,"  replied  a  railway  en- 
gineer, who  had  failed  to  take  out  his  train.  "I 
have  four  pat  hands  beat  and  every  set  of  threes  I 
pick  up.  Serves  me  right.  Pot  somebody  for  a 
bottle  of  beer." 

"You're  on,"  replied  the  dealer,  a  comical-look- 
ing countryman,  known  as  Cy.  "Deal  'em  lower, 
I  can  see  every  card,"  someone  remarked;  and 
just  at  that  moment  Cy  turned  over  a  deuce  and 
replied :  "Can't  deal  'em  much  lower  than  that, 
can  I?" 

But  who  is  this  going  down  the  stairs  just  as 
daylight  is  breaking  ?  And  why  is  he  making  such 
gestures  ?  It  is  Bodney,  and  he  is  swearing  that  he 
will  never  play  again. 


152  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON. 


Howard  had  shared  his  father's  sentiment  with 
regard  to  the  old  office,  for  then  the  sky  was  clear, 
but  now  a  cloud  had  come  the  atmosphere  was 
changed.  And  on  his  way  home  to  dinner,  after 
a  day  spent  without  progress,  he  formed  a  resolve 
to  tell  the  old  gentleman  that  he  needed  a  fresher 
and  a  brisker  air  than  that  blown  about  the  ancient 
temple  of  lore.  It  ought  not  to  hurt  him  now  since 
he  had  begun  to  look  upon  his  son  with  an  eye  so 
dark  with  censure.  Even  if  his  affection  had  been 
withdrawn  his  blood-interest  must  surely  still  re- 
main, the  young  man  mused;  even  though  senti- 
ment were  dead,  there  must  remain  alive  a  desire  to 
see  him  prosper,  and  to  prosper  in  that  old  place 
was  impossible.  He  believed  that  his  father  was 
losing  his  mind;  years  of  dry  opinion,  of  unyield- 
ing fact  and  the  dead  weight  of  precedent  growing 
heavier,  smothered  his  mental  life. 

The  household,  with  the  exception  of  the  Judge, 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  153 

was  at  dinner,  and  when  Howard  entered  the  dining 
room  his  mother  arose  hastily  and  came  to  meet 
him.  "Your  father  wants  to  see  you  in  the  office," 
she  said,  and  putting  her  hand  on  his  arm,  she 
added :  "I  don't  know  what  he  w^ants,  but  no  mat- 
ter what  it  is,  please  bear  with  him — don't  say  any- 
thing to  annoy  him." 

*'Has  anything  happened?"  Howard  asked. 

"Something,  but  I  don't  know  what.  Someone 
called,  I  heard  loud  talking  in  the  office,  and  after 
the  caller  had  gone,  your  father  came  out  and  said 
that  he  wanted  to  see  you  as  soon  as  you  arrived. 
Be  gentle  with  him,  dear." 

The  old  gentleman  was  sitting  at  his  desk  when 
Howard  entered  the  office.  He  got  up  and  for  a 
time  stood  looking  at  the  young  man  with  no 
word  of  explanation.  "Well,  sir,"  he  said,  after  a 
time,  "what  will  you  do  next?" 

"What  have  I  done  now?" 

"No  quibbling,  sir.  You  know  what  you  have 
done." 

"I  pledge  you  my  honor  I  do  not." 

"Pledge  me  your  what!  Pledge  me  your  old 
clothes,  but  not  your  honor." 

"You  wanted  to  see  me,  so  mother  says,  and  now 
I  should  like  to  know  why." 


154  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"I  suppose  that  you  are  so  innocent  that  you 
can't  even  guess.  Or  is  it  that  you  are  so  forgetful 
of  your  deeds  that  you  cannot  remember?  Why 
did  you  send  that  old  fool  out  here?" 

"Send  an  old  fool  out  here!  I  didn't  send  any- 
one." 

The  old  man  took  a  step  toward  him  with  his 
finger  uplifted.  His  eyes  were  full  of  anger  and 
his  finger  shook,  a  willow  in  the  wind.  ''How  can 
you  deny  it?  You  sent  old  Dr.  Risbin,  the  mor- 
phine eater,  out  here  to  see  me." 

"Oh,  did  he  come  out  here?  But  I  swear  I  did 
not  send  him.    In  fact,  I  told  him  not  to  come." 

"Ah,  and  is  that  the  reason  he  came — because 
you  told  him  not  to?  He  was  never  here  before 
in  his  life,  and  why  should  he  say  that  you  sent 
him?" 

"Because  he  is  a  poor  old  liar,  I  suppose.  I  ad- 
mit that  I  saw  him  in  his  office  and — ■' 

"A  gradual  acknowledgment  is  better  than  no 
acknowledgment  at  all.  Why  did  you  see  him  in 
his  office,  or  why  did  you  speak  of  me  ?" 

"Father,  if  you'll  only  be  patient  with  me  I  will 
tell  you.  Your  bearing  toward  me  has  been  dis- 
tressful.   I  was  afraid  that  your  mind — " 

"Enough  of  that.    My  mind  is  sounder,  sir,  than 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  155 

yours  will  ever  be.  But,  suppose  something  were 
wrong.  Is  he  the  physician  to  consult  ?  Why,  his 
mind  has  been  dead  for  years.  Why  did  you  con- 
sult him  if  it  were  not  in  contempt  of  me?  I  ask 
you  why  ?" 

''I  was  standing  in  the  door  of  our  office  and 
happened  to  notice  his  sign  just  across  the  hall ; 
and  1  thought  that  as  he  knew  you  well,  I  would 
speak  to  him.  I  soon  saw  that  he  didn't  know 
what  he  was  talking  about,  and  when  he  suggested 
that  he  ought  to  see  you,  I  told  him  no,  and 
changed  the  subject.  That's  my  offense,  and  I  beg 
your  pardon." 

"I  will  try  to  believe  you,"  said  the  Judge,  sit- 
ting down.  "Your  office  is  down  town.  This  one 
is  mine." 

*'Yes,  sir,  and  I  will  not  intrude.  I  wouldn't  have 
come  in  but  you  wanted — " 

The  Judge* waved  his  hand.  "Our  business  has 
been  transacted." 

"Yours  has,  but  I  have  something  to  say.  I  don't 
want  to  occupy  that  musty  old  den  any  longer.  It 
doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me  if  there  are  a 
thousand  javelins  of  wit  sticking  in  the  walls,  or  a 
thousand  ghosts  of  oratory  floating  in  the  air,  I 
can't  make  a  living  so  long  as  I  stay  in  it.    I  don't 


156  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

want  to  be  of  the  past,  but  of  the  present.  Your 
success  was  not  a  past  but  a  present,  and  my  pres- 
ent is  as  valuable  to  me  as  yours  was  to  you." 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  get  out  of  that  office  as 
soon  as  you  like.  But  before  you  go,  put  up  some 
sort  of  emblem  expressive  of  your  contempt  of  all 
its  memories.  Stuf¥  out  a  suit  of  old  clothes  with 
straw,  a  scarecrow  of  the  past,  set  it  at  the  desk 
and  call  it — me." 

"Please  don't  talk  to  me  that  way.  I  don't 
mean  any  disrespect — I  want  to  establish  myself  on 
a  modern  footing.  You  know  that  Florence  and 
I—" 

"Don't  speak  of  her" 

"Why  not?    She  is  to  be  my  wife." 

"Not  with  my  consent." 

"Your  consent  is  desirable,  but  not  absolutely 
necessary.  I  don't  mean  this  in  impudence;  I 
mean  it  merely  to  show  my — our  determination. 
I  don't  know  why  you  should  oppose  our  marriage, 
and  I  have  no  idea  as  to  what  extent  you  will  op- 
pose it,  but  I  wish  to  say  that  no  extreme  will  have 
any  effect.  You  say  that  you  are  not  ill;  you 
swear  that  your  mind  is  not  affected,  and  yet  you 
refuse  to  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  change  toward 
me.     I   must   have   done   something,   either   con- 


The  old  man  pointed  toward  the  door,  and  Howard  walked  slowlv  out. 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  157 

sciously  or  unconsciously,  and  now  again  I  beg  of 
you  to  tell  me  what  it  is." 

The  old  man  leaned  forward  with  his  eyes  bent 
upon  the  floor.  "I  have  seen  great  actors,  but  this 
— go  away,  Howard.    Leave  me  alone." 

''Am  I  ever  to  know,  sir?" 

The  old  man  pointed  toward  the  door,  and  How- 
ard walked  slowly  out.  His  mother  stood  in  the 
hall.  Her  eyes  were  tearful,  and  taking  his  arm 
she  held  it  as  if  she  would  say  something,  but  liber- 
ated him,  motioned  him  away,  and  went  into  the 
office.  The  Judge  got  up,  forcing  a  change  upon 
his  countenance,  smiled  at  her,  took  her  hand  and 
led  her  to  a  chair.  "Now,  don't  be  w^orried,"  said 
he.  "I  merely  reprimanded  Howard,  as  I  had  a 
right  to  do,  for  sending  an  old  fool,  who  calls  him- 
self a  doctor,  out  here  to  see  me.    That's  all." 

"But  what  did  you  mean  by  calling  him  an 
actor  ?  What  has  he  done  that  he  should  be  acting 
now  ?" 

"Nothing — nothing  at  all,  I  assure  you." 

"You  said  he  was  acting,"  she  persisted. 

"Perhaps  I  did,  but  I  didn't  mean  it.  Oh,  yes, 
acting  as  if  he  didn't  care  for  the  memories  of  the 
old  office." 

"But,  dear,  something  has  come  between  you 
and  Howard.    What  is  it?" 


158  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

^'Between  us,  my  dear?  Surely  not.  We  don't 
agree  on  all  points ;  he  has  his  opinions  and  I  have 
mine ;  but  there  is  no  serious  difference  between 
us.  Come,  I  will  show  you.  He  and  I  will  eat 
dinner  together." 

He  led  her  to  the  dining  room,  where  Howard 
sat  moodily  looking  at  the  table.  He  glanced  up, 
and  the  Judge  waved  his  hand  with  something  of 
his  old-time  graciousness.  "Any  callers  today, 
Howard?"  he  asked,  sitting  down. 

''Goyle,  whom  I  am  beginning  not  to  like,  and 
Mr.  Bradley." 

"Whom  you  cannot  help  but  like.  A  good  man, 
conscientious  and  yet  not  creed-bound." 

"He  is  building  up  a  great  church,"  said  Mrs. 
Elbridge.    "It  is  almost  impossible  to  get  a  seat." 

"Ah,  I  don't  attend  as  regularly  as  I  should,"  re- 
marked the  Judge,  "but  I  am  going  to  mend  my 
ways.    Howard,  shall  we  go  together  soon?" 

"I  shall  be  dehghted,  sir." 

"Then  let  us  appoint  an  early  day." 

The  father  and  the  son  laughed  with  each  other, 
and  to  the  mother  it  was  as  if  new  strings,  to  re- 
place broken  ones,  had  been  put  upon  an  old 
guitar,  and  she  was  happy  merely  to  listen;  but 
soon  she  was  called  away,  attendant  upon  some 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  159 

duty,  and  then  a  darkness  fell  upon  the  old  man's 
countenance.  ''Enough  of  this,"  he  said.  And 
there  was  more  than  surprise  in  the  look  which 
Howard  gave  him— there  was  grief  in  it.  "Then 
your  good  humor  was  assumed,"  he  replied. 

"We  may  assume  good  humor  as  we  assume  hon- 
esty—for policy,"  the  Judge  rejoined. 

''I  swear  I  don't  understand  you." 

"Then  don't  strive  to  do  so  when  your  mother 
is  present.    At  such  times,  take  me  as  you  find  me." 

"My  pleasure  just  now  was  real.  It  is  a  grief  to 
know  that  yours  was  not.  I  was  in  hopes  that  our 
difference,  whatever  it  is,  for  I  don't  know,  was  at 
an  end.    You  led  me  to  believe  so." 

"Lay  no  store  by  what  you  suppose  I  lead  you 
to  believe.  When  our  difference  shall  reach  an  end, 
if  such  a  thing  is  possible,  I  will  tell  you." 

"Then  you  acknowledge  a  difference." 

"T  have  not  denied  it." 

"And  you  will  not  tell  what  it  is  ?" 

"Now,  you  are  mocking  me.  Ah,  come  in,  my 
dear."  Mrs.  Elbridge  had  returned.  "Yes,  we  will 
go  to  hear  Bradley  preach.  And  I  warrant  I  can 
remember  more  of  the  sermon  than  you." 

"Mr.  Bradley  is  here  now,"  said  :\Irs.  Elbridge. 

"Ah,  is  he?  Did  you  tell  him  I  would  be  in 
pretty  soon  ?" 


160  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"He  has  come  to  see  Agnes,  I  think.  He  asked 
for  her." 

"Ah,  the  sly  dog.  Well,  he  couldn't  ask  for  a 
better  girl.    Are  you  going,  Howard?" 

"Yes,  sir,  to  take  a  walk  with  Florence,  if  she 
cares  to  go." 

The  Judge  frowned,  but  his  wife  did  not  notice  it. 
Howard  did,  however,  and  was  sorry  that  he  spoke 
of  his  intention,  but  he  had  no  opportunity  to  apolo- 
gize, if  indeed  he  felt  an  inclination  to  do  so.  It 
was  a  sorrow  to  feel  that  his  father  was  set  against 
him,  but  to  know  that  he  was  trying  to  influence  the 
girl  was  more  than  a  sorrow — it  was  a  grief  har- 
dened with  anger.  He  found  Florence  and  they 
went  out  together,  walking  southward. 

"How  soft  the  air  is,"  she  said. 

"Nature  is  breathing  low." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  beneath  the  cotton- 
woods  and  elms.  Laughter,  the  buzz  of  talk  and 
tunes  softly  hummed  came  from  door-steps  and 
porticos  where  families  and  visitors  were  gathered, 
to  the  disgust  of  Astors  and  flunkies  from  over  the 
sea. 

"Florence,"  said  Howard,  "before  I  came  home 
this  evening  I  was  determined  to  move  out  of  that 
old  building  down  town,  and  to  get  an  office  in  a 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  161 

modern  building.     But  now  I  have  decided  upon 
something  else." 

"To  remain  there  out  of  respect  for  your  father 
and  his  memories?" 

"No.  To  gtt  away  from  this  town — out  West, 
to  build  a  home  for  you.    I  hope  you  don't  object." 

"Object.  I  am  pleased.  I  think  it  is  the  very 
wisest  thing  you  could  do.  And  as  soon  as  you  are 
ready  for  me,  I  will  go." 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  till,  passing  under 
a  lamp,  near  a  group  of  persons  on  a  flight  of  steps, 
he  gently  let  it  fall.  "Yes,  it  is  the  wisest  thing  I 
can  do.  The  law  is  altogether  different  from  v/hat 
it  was  when  father  was  in  his  prime — the  practice 
of  it,  I  mean — and  I  don't  believe  I  could  ever  build 
up  here.  Oh,  I  might.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  want  to 
practice  here.  I  am  disheartened.  The  idea  of  a 
man,  at  his  age,  turning  against — do  you  know 
what  he  holds  against  me,  Florence?" 

"Howard,  you  must  not  ask  me." 

"Must  not  ask  you  ?    Then  you  know." 

"Please  don't  ask  me." 

They  were  in  the  light,  amid  laughter  and  the 
humming  of  tunes,  and  he  waited  till  they  reached 
a  place  where  there  was  no  one  to  hear,  and  then  he 
said :  "If  you  know  and  love  me,  it  would  be  un- 
natural not  to  tell  me." 
11 


162  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

''Howard,  Peter  may  have  denied  his  Lord,  mar- 
tyrs may  have  denied  their  reHgion,  but  you  can't 
deny  my  love." 

"No,  I  can't;  but  how  can  you  keep  from  me 
a  secret  that  concerns  me  so  vitally?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  could  hold  back  anything  from  you?" 

"Not  if  your  mother  were  dead  and  you  had  taken 
an  oath  upon  her  memory?" 

"Not  if  God  were  dead  and  I  had  sworn — " 

"Howard,  you  must  not  talk  that  way." 

He  was  holding  her  hand  and  he  felt  the  ripples 
of  her  agitation.  "I  think  I  know  your  secret,"  he 
said.  "You  have  cause  to  believe  that  his  mind  is 
giving  way  and  you  don't  want  to  distress  me  by 
confessing  it — have  been  sworn  to  silence,  as  if  it 
could  be  kept  hidden  from  me." 

She  admitted  that  she  did  not  believe  that  his 
mind  was  sound,  and  he  accepted  it  as  the  secret 
which  she  had  at  first  held  back,  but  her  conscience 
arose  against  the  deception  of  leaving  him  so  com- 
pletely in  the  dark.  "Howard,  you  have  often  said 
in  your  joking  way  that  I  have  the  honor  of  a  man." 

"Yes,  the  honor  of  the  Roman  famed  for  honor. 
But  honor  can  be  cool,  and  I  need  something  warm- 
er, now — love.  I  am,  as  you  know,  deeply  distressed 
at  father's  condition ;   it  has  changed  nearly  all  my 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  163 

plans— every  plan,  in  fact,  except  the  one  great 
plan — our  plan.  Mother  begs  me  to  be  patient. 
But  for  what  end,  if  there  is  to  be  no  improvement 
in  his  treatment  of  me?  I  took  a  hint  from  Uncle 
WiUiam,  not  intended  for  me,  that  there  has  been 
insanity  in  the  family.  That's  a  comforting  thought, 
now,  isn't  it  ?    Why  do  you  tremble  so  ?" 

''Because  I  believe  that  there  is  truth  in  Uncle 
William's  hint." 

''But  it  should  not  have  any  effect  upon  our  plans 
— our  marriage." 

"r  would  marry  you,  Howard,  if  you  were  a 
maniac." 

They  were  in  the  dark,  and  he  put  his  arm  about 
her.  "Then,  let  the  whole  world  go  insane,"  he 
said. 

The  soft  air  murmured  among  the  leaves  of  the 
Cottonwood.  A  band  of  happy  children  danced 
about  an  organ  grinder  in  the  street.  A  fraudulent 
newsboy  cried  a  murder  in  Indiana  Avenue,  and 
from  afar  came  as  if  in  echo,  "All  about  the  murder 
on  Prairie  Avenue." 

"Howard,  knowing  me  as  you  do,  and  supposing 
that  I  had  not  told  all  I  know,  and  I  were  to  ask 
you  to  wait,  what  would  you  say  ?" 

"Not  knowing  you  so  well  I  would  say,  'out  with 


164  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

it,'  but  knowing  you,  I  would  say,  'wait.'  But  what 
do  you  mean  ?" 

'*!  mean  to  wait  four  weeks  and  no  longer." 

**Now  you  begin  to  mystify  me.  But  we'll  not 
think  about  it.  I  wonder  what's  the  trouble  with 
George.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  change  so.  I  be- 
lieve that  fellow  Goyle  is  having  a  bad  influence  on 
him.  There  is  something  uncanny  about  that  chap. 
Did  you  ever  notice  his  eyes  ?  They  have  a  sort  of 
a  draw,  like  a  nerve.     Have  you  noticed  it?" 

'*I  have  noticed  that  I  don't  like  him.  He  looks 
like  a  professional  spiritualist." 

'T  guess  he  is  in  one  sense — in  slate  writing — 
guess  he  has  most  everything  put  down  on  the 
slate." 

*T  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"Has  everything  charged  that  he  can.  He's  a 
fraud,  no  doubt." 

"Agnes  says  so." 

"Oh,  well,  what  Agnes  says  couldn't  be  taken  as 
evidence.  She  sees  a  man  and  has  a  sort  of  flutter. 
If  the  flutter's  pleasant  the  man's  all  right;  if  it 
isn't,  he's  all  wrong." 

"But  there  might  be  intuition  in  a  flutter,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  or  prejudice.    But  George  has  always  been 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  165 

a  good  judge  of  men.  He  has  excellent  business 
sense — has  invested  in  lots  and  can  make  a  fair 
profit  on  them  at  any  time  he  cares  to  sell.  Shall 
we  turn  back  here  ?" 

Agnes  and  the  preacher  sat  in  the  drawing  room, 
she  flouncing  about  on  a  sofa,  and  he  dignified  on 
a  straight-back  chair.    It  is  rather  remarkable  that 
a  preacher  is  more  often  attracted  by  a  mischief- 
loving  girl  than  by  a  sedate  maiden ;   and  this  may 
account  for  the  truth  that  ministers'  sons  are  some- 
times so  full  of  that  quality  known,  impiously,  as 
the  devil.    In  the  early  days  of  the  EngUsh  church, 
when  the  meek  parson,  not  permitted  to  hope  that 
he  might  one  day  chase  a  fox  or  drink  deep  with 
the  bishop,  and  who  was  forced  to  retire  to  the  serv- 
ants' hall  when  the  ale  and  the  cheese  cakes  came 
on,  had  cause  in  secret  to  offer  up  thanks  that  not 
more  than  two  of  his  sons  were  pirates  on  the  high 
seas.    And  Bradley  sat  there  watching  a  cotillion  of 
mischief  dancing  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl. 

"You    have    never    been    connected    with    any 
church,  have  you?" 

*'Once,"    she   replied,   with   a   graceful   flounce. 
''But  I  danced  out." 

"Danced  out,  did  you  say?" 

*'Yes.    I  got  religion  in  the  fall  and  lost  it  in  the 
winter — by  going  to  a  ball  and  dancing." 


166  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Why,"  said  the  preacher,  slowly,  patting  his 
knee,  *'that  did  not  cause  you  to  lose  it." 

"Well,  that's  what  they  said,  anyway.  And  I 
know  I  cried  after  I  got  home  because  my  religion 
was  gone." 

"It  is  a  crime  to  teach  such  rubbish." 

"Then  you  don't  think  I  lost  it  ?" 

"Surely  not." 

"Then  I  must  have  it  yet,"  she  cried,  clapping  her 
hands. 

"Miss  Agnes,  your  purity  is  of  itself  a  religion." 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  I  am  wicked  some- 
times— I  say  hateful  things." 

"But  there  is  no  bitterness  in  your  soul." 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  think  there  is,  sometimes. 
I  know  once  I  wished  that  a  woman  was  dead ;  but 
she  was  the  meanest  thing  you  ever  saw.  And  she 
did  die  not  long  after  that  and  I  was  scared  nearly 
to  death — and  I  prayed  and  sent  flowers  to  the 
funeral.    Wasn't  that  wicked  ?" 

The  preacher  admitted  that  it  was  wayward,  but 
he  could  not  find  it  in  his  inflamed  heart  to  call 
her  wicked.  She  was  too  engaging,  too  handsome 
to  be  wicked.  Nature  could  not  so  defame  herself, 
he  thought,  though  he  knew  that  there  was  many  a 
beautiful  flower  without  perfume.     But  while  set- 


WANTED  TO  SEE  HIS  SON.  167 

tied  love  condemns,  love  springing  into  life  for- 
gives. "Wayward,"'  said  the  preacher,  "Perhaps 
thoughtless  would  be  a  better  word." 

"No,  it  wasn't  thoughtless,  because  I  was  think- 
ing hard  all  the  time.  Don't  you  get  awfully  tired 
studying  up  something  to  preach  about?" 

He  smiled  upon  her.  "All  work  in  time  becomes 
laborious,  and  that  is  why  congregations  desire 
young  men — they  want  freshness.  An  old  man 
may  continue  to  be  fresh,  but  his  brain  must  be 
wonderful  and  his  soul  must  be  a  garden  of  flow- 
ers. The  wisdom  of  the  old  man  often  oliends  the 
young  and  tires  the  middle-aged ;  human  nature 
demands  entertainment,  and  the  preacher  who  en- 
tertains while  he  instructs  is  the  one  who  makes 
the  most  friends  and  the  one  who  indeed  does  the 
most  good.  The  unpoetic  preacher  is  doomed ;  the 
gospel  itself  is  a  poem.  The  practical  man  may  not 
read  poetry,  may  not  understand  it ;  but  he  likes  it 
in  a  sermon,  for  it  breathes  the  gentleness  and  the 
purity  of  Christ.  But  poetry  cannot  be  laborious, 
cannot  be  dry  with  studied  wisdom,  and  therefore, 
when  a  preacher  becomes  a  great  scholar,  he  forgets 
his  simple  poetry  and  the  people  begin  to  forget 
him." 

"My!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "what  a  sermon  you 


168  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

have  preached.  And  it's  true,  too,  I  think.  I  know 
we  had  an  old  man  at  our  church — one  of  the  best 
old  men  you  ever  saw — but  they  got  tired  of  him. 
He — he  couldn't  hold  anybody.  Even  the  old 
men  gaped  and  yawned.  He  was  giving  them  dry 
creed.  Well,  a  young  man  came  along  and 
p<reached  for  us.  And  it  was  like  spring  time  com- 
ing in  the  winter.  He  made  us  laugh  and  cry. 
People  like  to  cry — it  makes  them  laugh  so  much 
better  afterward.    Well,  the  old  man  had  to  go." 

"And  after  a  time,  the  young  man,  grown  old, 
will  have  to  go.  We  must  keep  this  life  fresh ;  we 
must  look  for  incentives  to  freshness.  A  preacher 
ought  to  be  the  most  genial  of  men.  And  his  wife 
ought  to  be  genial;  indeed,  innocent  mischief 
would  not  ill  become  her." 

He  looked  at  her,  but  she  did  not  look  at  him. 
She  was  leaning  back  with  her  eyes  half  closed.  "I 
hear  Mr.  Howard  and  Agnes  coming,"  she  said. 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE.  169 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE. 


Two  weeks  passed,  and  during  the  time  Howard 
busied  himself  with  the  writing  of  letters  to  numer- 
ous real-estate  men  and  postmasters  in  the  West. 
Sometimes  he  would  put  down  his  pen  to  muse 
over  what  Florence  had  said,  that  she  might  tell 
him  something  after  the  lapse  of  four  weeks,  and 
more  than  once  had  he  spoken  to  her  with  regard 
to  what  seemed  to  him  as  her  vague  information, 
but  she  had  told  him  to  wait.  He  knew  her  well 
enough  not  to  persist.  One  of  his  earliest  memories 
was  a  certain  sort  of  stubbornness  which  formed  a 
part  of  her  character.  She  was  gentle  and  lovable, 
but  strong.  He  fancied  that  had  she  been  reared 
in  a  different  sphere  of  Hfe  she  would  have  become 
a  leader  in  the  Salvation  Army. 

Bodney  came  to  the  office  every  day,  but  was  so 
restless  that  he  rarely  remained  long.  Once  he 
came  to  the  door,  saw  the  preacher  within,  and 
stole    away    without    speaking.      And    one    after- 


170  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

noon  Howard  heard  him  and  Goyle  tossing  high 
words  in  the  hall,  but  a  few  moments  later  they  went 
out,  arm  in  arm.  One  morning  the  Judge  came  in. 
"I  didn't  know  but  you  had  left  this  place,"  he  said, 
standing  near  the  door  and  looking  about  to  search 
for  the  old  memories,  Howard  mused. 

"No,  sir.  The  fact  is  I  may  not  move  to  any 
other  ofhce  in  this  town." 

'In  this  town!"  the  old  man  repeated.  "What 
other  town  is  there?"  To  a  Chicago  man  that 
ought  to  have  established  his  complete  soundness 
of  mind.  'T  can  give  you  credit  for  all  sorts  of — let 
me  say,  weakness — but  I  cannot  see  why  you 
should  be  so  foolish  as  to  leave  this  city." 

"You  came  at  an  early  day,"  said  Howard.  "I 
might  better  my  prospects  by  going  to  a  town  that 
is  still  in  its  early  day." 

"Um,  and  come  back  broke.  You  haven't  stuffed 
that  old  suit  of  clothes  yet." 

"There's  time  enough  for  that,  sir?" 

"What !    Then  you  really  intend  to  do  it  ?" 

"Didn't  you  command  me?" 

"None  of  your  banter."  The  Judge  walked  over 
to  the  old  iron  safe,  with  the  names  Elbridge  & 
Bodney  slowly  rusting  into  the  invisible  past,  put 
his  hand  upon  it  and  stood  there  with  his  head 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE.  171 

bowed.  From  the  street  came  the  sharp  clang  of  a 
fireman's  gong,  and  the  old  man  sprang  back. 

'There  is  a  fire  somewhere,"  said  Howard. 

"There  is,  sir ;  it  is  here,"  the  Judge  rephed,  put- 
ting his  hand  on  his  breast.  Yes,  it  was  now  only 
too  evident  that  his  mind  was  diseased.  The  young 
man  went  to  him,  took  his  hand,  looked  into  his 
eyes.  'T  beg  of  you  to  believe  that  my  love  for 
you  is  as  strong  as  ever.  I  don't  know  how  to 
humble  myself,  for  you  have  taught  me  independ- 
ence, but  I  would  get  down  on  my  knees  to  you 
if — "  The  old  man  threw  his  hand  from  him  and 
hastened  from  the  room.  In  the  hall  he  en- 
countered the  opium  eating  doctor.  ''Why,  my 
dear  Judge,  I  am  surprised  to  see  you  out." 

"And  you  will  be  still  more  surprised  if  you  don't 
get  out  of  my  way." 

"But  won't  you  stop  a  while  for  old-time's  sake?" 

"I  will  do  nothing,  sir,  but  attend  to  my  own 
affairs,  and  I  request  you  to  do  the  same." 

"Of  course,  yes,  of  course.  Well,  drop  in  when 
you  are  passing." 

The  old  doctor  stepped  up  to  the  door  of  How- 
ard's office.  The  young  man  stood  confronting 
him.  "I  have  thought  over  what  you  said  the  other 
day  concerning  your  father,  and  have  come  to  the 


172  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

conclusion  that  you  are  right,"  said  the  doctor. 
"There  is  something  wrong  with  him." 

"But  I  wish  you  wouldn't  irritate  him.  And,  by 
the  way,  why  did  you  tell  him  that  I  told  you  to  go 
out  to  the  house  ?" 

"Didn't  you  request  me  to  go?" 

"I  certainly  did  not." 

"Well,  really,  I  misunderstood  you.  By  the  way, 
someone  told  me  that  you  intended  to  give  up  this 
office.  It  is  a  better  one  than  mine,  having  the 
advantage  of  a  better  view,  and  I  don't  know  but  I 
might  take  it." 

"I  am  not  going  to  give  it  up  yet  a  while." 

Bodney  came  into  the  hall  and  the  old  doctor 
shuffled  into  his  own  den.  "I  guess  he  wants  to 
poison  someone,"  said  Bodney,  nodding  toward 
the  doctor's  office.    "Anybody  with  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  Howard  answered,  as  they  both  stepped 
into  the  office.    "Why?" 

"Oh,  I  am  getting  so  I  don't  want  to  see  any- 
body. I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  thousand  years  old,"  he 
added,  dropping  upon  a  chair. 

"You  don't  look  well,  that's  a  fact.  What  seems 
to  be  the  trouble?" 

"I  don't  know.  Liver,  perhaps.  Goyle  been  here 
today?" 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE.  173 

''No,  and  I  don't  want  him  to  come  again.  Now, 
look  here,  George,  I  believe  that  fellow  has  a  bad 
influence  on  you.  You  are  not  the  same  m^an  since 
you  became  so  intimate  with  him.  What's  his  busi- 
ness?   What  does  he  do?" 

"I'd  rather  not  talk  about  him,  Howard." 

"Then  his  influence  must  be  bad.  Turn  him  over 
to  me  the  next — " 

"No,"  Bodney  quickly  interposed.  "Let  every- 
thing go  along  as  it  is  till  the  proper  time  and 
then — then  I  will  attend  to  him.  I  am  not  in  a  po- 
sition now  to  do  anything,  but  one  of  these  days  I 
am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  will  open  your 
eyes  to  the  perfidy  of  man — man  close  to  you. 
Don't  say  anything  more  now ;  I  am  crushed.  I 
am — " 

He  leaned  forward  with  his  arms  on  a  table  and 
his  head  on  his  arms,  his  eyes  hidden  from  the 
light.  "Why,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Howard,  going 
to  him.  touching  him  gently,  "don't  look  at  it  that 
way.    It  is  not  so  bad  as  that." 

"It  is  worse,"  said  Bodney,  in  a  smothered  voice. 
"It  is  worse  than  you  can  possibly  picture  it.  And 
when  I  tell  you,  you  will  hate  me  as  you  never 
hated  a  human  being  on  the  earth.  Don't  ask  me 
now,  for  I  can't  tell  you.     Just  simply  don't  pay 


174  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

any  attention  to  me.  But  I  beg  of  you  not  to  say  a 
word  at  home.  I  have  been  led  into  hell,  Howard, 
and  there  is  no  way  out." 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is,  my  boy.  There  is  the  door 
through  which  you  went  in.     Go  out  at  it." 

'1  can't.    You  don't  know." 

''Are  you  in  financial  trouble?  Has  that  fellow 
led  you — "  ^ 

''Worse  than  that,  Howard.  But  I  can't  tell  you 
now." 

Once  his  long-delayed  confession  flowed  to  the 
very  brim  of  utterance,  but  he  forced  it  back  and 
sat  in  silence.  Howard  went  out  and  Bodney  was 
thankful  to  be  alone  with  his  own  misery;  but 
he  was  not  to  be  long  alone — Goyle  came  in. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  old  chap?  You  seem 
to  be  in  the  dumps.  Come,  cheer  up  now.  You've 
got  no  cause  to  be  so  blue?  You  don't  see  those 
fellows  over  yonder  in  the  bank  blue,  do  you?  I 
guess  not.  And  they  are  the  biggest  sort  of  rob- 
bers. I  beat  the  horses  today.  And  here's  thirty  of 
what  I  owe  you.  Oh,  it's  coming  around  all  right. 
You  can't  keep  a  squirrel  on  the  ground,  you 
know." 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  Bodney,  brightening 
as  he  took  the  bank  notes.    "Can't  keep  a  squirrel 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE.  175 

on  the  ground,  but  you  can  shoot  him  out  of  a 

tree/' 

"But  we  haven't  been  shot  out  of  the  tree  yet. 
Things  will  begin  to  come  our  way  now,  you  see 
if  they  don't.  I've  got  a  proposition  to  submit  to 
you  that  will  make  us  both  rich— regular  gold  mine, 
with  not  a  dull  moment  in  it— life  from  beginning 
to  end.  I  can't  tell  you  now,  but  hold  yourself  in 
readiness  for  it.  You  can  take  that  thirty  and 
maybe  win  a  hundred  at  the  Wexton.  In  the  mean- 
time I'll  be  perfecting  my  plans.  We  shall  need 
four  or  five  agents,  but  I  can  get  them  all  right, 
and  if  we  don't  live  in  clover  a  bumble  bee  never 
did.    Now,  don't  you  feel  better?    Look  at  me." 

"Yes,  I  feel  better." 

"And  don't  you  believe  we'll  pull  out  all  right? 
Hah  ?"  He  put  his  hand  on  Bodney's  shoulder  and 
looked  into  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Of  course  you  do.  We  have  been  living  in  the 
night,  but  the  sun  is  rising  now.  Let's  go  over  to 
the  Wexton  and  eat  dinner." 

"I  ought  to  stay  here  till  Howard  comes  back." 

"Why,  just  to  tell  him  you  are  going  out?  If 
you  go  out  he'll  know  you  are  gone,  won't  he  ?" 

"You  go  on  and  I  will  come  pretty  soon.    I  said 


176  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

something  to  Howard  just  now  that  I  want  to  cor- 
rect/' 

"All  right,"  said  Goyle.  "But  come  over  as  soon 
as  you  can." 

When  Howard  returned  he  found  Bodney  idly 
drawing  comic  pictures  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  He 
looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  ''Why,  what  has 
happened  ?"  Howard  asked. 

"My  fit's  passed,  that's  all.  I  must  have  talked 
Hke  a  wild  man." 

"I  rather  think  you  did.  You  alarmed  me — said 
you  were  worse  than  ruined.  What  has  occurred 
to  change  it  all?" 

Bodney  laughed  as  he  looked  about,  making 
ready  to  take  his  leave.  He  was  beginning  to  be 
restless,  for  the  fever  was  rising  fast.  He  turned  his 
eye  inward  to  look  for  full  hands  and  flushes. 

"Nothing  has  occurred,"  said  he.  "The  fit  of 
melancholy  has  simply  passed.  That's  all."  He 
was  moving  toward  the  door. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Howard.  "There  is 
something  I  want  to  talk  about." 

"I  haven't  time  now,"  Bodney  replied.  "I  have 
thought  of  something  that  must  be  attended  to 
at  once." 

"Just  a  moment,  George.     Hasn't  Goyle  been 

here?" 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE.  177 

''Goyle?  No,  not  today.  And,  by  the  way,"  he 
added,  turning  toward  Howard,  "I  think  I  must 
have  spoken  rashly  about  him  just  now.  There  is 
nothing  wrong  in  his  make-up ;  he  may  appear 
queer,  but  he's  all  right  when  you  come  down  to 
principle.     He  thinks  the  world  of  you." 

"I  don't  want  him  to  think  anything  of  me." 

Bodney  did  not  stay  to  reply.  His  fever  was 
now  so  strong  that  it  would  have  taken  two  giants 
to  hold  him.  He  fought  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  and,  panting,  rushed  into  the  poker  room. 
They  greeted  him  with  the  complimentary  encour- 
agement usually  poured  out  upon  the  arrival  of  the 
"sucker."  ''He'll  make  you  look  at  your  hole 
card."  ''Cash  my  chips."  "None  of  us  got  any 
show  now."  It  was  nearly  dinner  time  when  Bod- 
ney sat  down  to  the  game,  and  when  the  meal  was 
announced  he  was  winner.  Goyle  came  in  and  sat 
beside  him  at  the  dinner  table.  "The  scheme  I 
spoke  to  you  about  is  a  sure  road  to  fortune,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Bank  robbery?"  Bodney  asked,  smiling  with  the 
brightness  of  a  winner. 

"No,  it's  not  the  robbery  of  the  robbers.  It  is  less 
dangerous  and  more  profitable — almost  legitimate." 

"Almost!" 

12 


178  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Yes— but  full  of  sauce." 

"Don't  you  think  you'd  better  tell  me  what  it  is  ?" 

"Not  now.  I  want  to  see  you  alone — tomorrow. 
In  the  meantime  make  up  your  mind." 

"How  can  I  make  up  my  mind  to  do  something 
that  hasn't  been  proposed?" 

"Make  up  your  mind  to  agree  to  my  plan  no  mat- 
ter what  it  may  be.  We  are  going  to  ride  in  car- 
riages." 

"Or  in  a  police  van,  which?"  said  Bodney,  smil- 
ing. 

Goyle  put  his  hand  on  Bodney 's  shoulder.  "I 
see  you  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  game. 
All  right,  but  keep  your  mind  on  my  proposition." 

"A  proposition  that  hasn't  been  made,"  replied 
Bodney,  getting  up  from  the  table.  The  game  was 
re-forming,  for  the  poker  player  does  not  daudle 
over  a  meal ;  he  eats  just  as  a  pig  does — as  fast 
as  he  can. 

It  seemed  that  Bodney's  luck  had  come  to  stay. 
"You  make  your  third  man  every  time,"  said  a  los- 
ing wretch  whose  rent  was  past  due.  A  kindlier  eye 
might  have  seen  through  him  his  ragged  children, 
but  the  eye  of  the  winner  looks  at  his  stack — no 
poverty  and  no  wretchedness  softens  its  glitter. 

The  offensive  fellow  was  there,  sitting  to  the  left 


A  PROPOSITION  TO  MAKE.  179 

of  Bodney,  but  he  was  not  offensive  now;  defeat 
had  subdued  him ;  and  the  Professor  was  present, 
in  the  darkness  of  hard  luck,  and  with  his  air  of  mys- 
tery. "You  either  made  your  hand  or  you  didn't," 
he  said  to  a  man  who  had  drawn  one  card. 

"You  ought  to  know,"  the  man  repHed,  looking 
at  him  with  a  steady  eye.    "You  are  a  mind-reader." 

"Yes,  when  there  is  a  mind  to  read.  I  will  call 
you."     He  did  so  and  lost  his  money. 

"You  knew  what  I  had  in  my  note,"  said  Bod- 
ney. "Don't  you  remember,  when  I  met  you  on 
the  corner?  You  said  it  was  written  with  a  pen- 
cil. Why  couldn't  you  tell  what  that  man  held — 
whether  or  not  he  had  made  his  flush  ?" 

"Both  science  and  psychology  stop  and  grow 
dizzy  when  they  come  to  cards,"  the  Professor  re- 
plied. 

Goyle  came  in  and  put  his  hand  on  Bodney's 
shoulder,  "Slaughter  'em,"  he  said.  "You've  got 
everything  coming  your  way." 

"But  I  don't  know  how  long  it  will  last,"  Bodney 
replied. 

"Don't  scare  away  your  luck  with  mistrust.  And 
above  all,  don't  forget  that  I  have  a  proposition  to 
make.  Well,  I'll  see  you  tomorrow.  He  went  out, 
humming  a  tune.     Bodney  looked  round  to  see 


180  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

whether  he  was  gone,  and  seemed  to  be  reheved 
upon  seeing  him  pass  out.  Now  it  was  time  to  quit, 
the  slave  thought.  He  had  not  counted  his  chips, 
for  that  was  bad  luck,  but  he  must  have  won  nearly 
sixty  dollars.  Still  the  Ccirds  kept  coming,  two 
pairs  holding  good,  and  to  quit  was  an  insult  to  the 
goddess  of  good  fortune.  He  remembered  hearing 
a  gambler  say,  speaking  of  an  unlucky  playei  :  "He 
stays  to  lose,  but  not  to  win."  At  ten  o'clock  he 
felt  that  he  had  reached  his  limit,  and  counted  his 
chips — eighty-seven  dollars.  "I'll  have  to  quit  you," 
he  said,  shoving  back.  And  now  how  bright  and 
spirited  the  streets  were.  He  threw  a  piece  of 
silver  upon  the  banner  of  the  Salvationists. 


DID  NOT  TOUCH  HER.  181 


CHAPTER  XV. 


DID  NOT  TOUCH  HER. 


As  Howard  was  going  out  he  met  Bradley  com- 
ing up  the  stairs.  'T  have  caught  you  in  time," 
said  the  preacher.  "I  want  you  to  go  to  dinner  with 
me — at  a  place  off  Van  Buren  Street,  where  they 
cater  to  the  poor." 

"It  is  rather  a  tough  neighborhood  for  a  dinner," 
Howard  replied.  "Wouldn't  you  rather  go  to  a 
better  place?" 

"No,  I  would  rather  like  to  see  how  the  unfor- 
tunate dine." 

They  went  to  a  restaurant  that  opened  into  an 
alley.  The  long  room  was  furnished  with  plain 
tables,  without  cloths,  and  not  clean.  There  was 
sand  on  the  floor,  and  on  the  whitewashed  walls, 
together  with  Scriptural  texts,  against  one  of 
which  some  brute  had  thrown  a^quid  of  tobacco, 
were  placards  which  read,  "Lodging  ten  cents." 
They  took  seats  at  a  table  and  a  girl  came  up  and 
put  down  a  piece  of  paper,  scrawled  upon  with  a 


182  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

pencil.  It  was  a  bill  of  fare.  The  price  set  opposite 
each  dish  was  five  cents,  and  at  the  bottom  it  was 
announced  that  any  order  included  bread.  The 
place  was  gradually  filling  up  with  a  mottled  crowd, 
negroes,  a  sprinkle  of  Chinamen,  Greeks,  Polish 
Jews,  tramps — and  off  in  a  corner  sat  an  American 
Indian.     "The  air  is  bad,"  said  the  preacher. 

"No  worse  than  the  bill  of  fare,"  Howard  replied. 
"Let  us  get  out.  Don't  you  see  how  they  are  eyeing 
us?" 

"Let  us  at  least  make  a  pretense  of  eating.  I 
like  to  watch  these  odd  pieces  of  driftwood." 

"Washed  from  the  wreck  of  humanity,"  said 
Howard. 

The  preacher  looked  at  him  with  a  sad  smile. 
"Yes,  and  perhaps  not  all  of  them  are  responsible 
for  the  wreck.    They  couldn't  weather  the  storm." 

The  crowd  was  noisy  and  profane.  The  preacher 
spoke  to  a  waitress,  a  girl  with  a  hard,  uncon- 
cerned face.  "I  thought  that  this  place  was  under 
the  auspices  of  the  gospel,"  said  he. 

She  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  replied :  "I  believe 
some  sort  of  a  church  duck  did  start  it,  but  a  feller 
named  Smith  runs  it  now." 

"Then  services  are  not  held  here." 

She  looked  at  him.    "What  sort  of  services?" 


DID  NOT  TOUCH  HER.  183 

"Church  services." 

"Well,  I  guess  not.    These  guys  don't  want  serv- 
ices— they  want  grub." 

"I  believe   I   will  address  them,"  the  preacher 
said  to  Howard. 

"On  the  subject  of  foreign  missions?"  Howard 
asked. 

"A  merited  sarcasm,"  the  minister  replied.    "Let 
us  go." 

In  the  alley  near  the  door  a  woman  and  a  rufifian 
were  quarreling.  The  woman  held  a  piece  of  money 
in  her  hand  and  the  ruffian  was  trying  to  take  it 
from  her.  A  policeman  passed  down  the  alley,  but 
paid  no  attention.  The  ruffian  demanded  the 
money.  The  woman  refused.  He  knocked  her 
down,  took  it  from  her  hand  and  was  walking  oflf 
when  Bradley  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  "Give 
her  back  that  money,"  he  said.  The  man  drew 
back  his  ponderous  fist.  At  that  moment  Howard 
ran  up.  The  ruffian  looked  at  him  and  let  his  arm 
fall.  Bradley  called  the  policeman.  He  turned  and 
came  walking  slowly  back,  swinging  his  club. 
"What's  wanted?"  he  asked.  Bradley  told  him 
what  had  occurred.  "It's  a  He!"  exclaimed  the 
woman,  stepping  forward.  "You  never  hit  me,  did 
you,  Jack  ?" 


184  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Never  touched  her,"  said  Jack,  and  a  group 
about  the  door  of  the  restaurant  roared  with 
laughter.  .  "Move  on,"  said  the  policeman,  and 
Howard  and  the  preacher  moved  on,  the  crowd 
jeering  them. 

"What  put  it  into  your  head  to  go  there  ?"  How- 
ard asked. 

"I  thought  it  was  my  duty." 

"A  man's  duty  lies  mostly  among  his  own  peo- 
ple," said  the  young  lawyer. 

"No,  among  stricken  humanity." 

"A  heroic  idea,  but  fallacious.  The  Lord  takes 
care  of  His  own.  These  people  are  evidently  not 
His  own.  Pardon  my  slang,  but  here  is  a  genuine 
gospel  shop.    Let  us  go  in." 

At  the  door  of  a  room  forbiddingly  neat  to  the 
class  which  it  intended  to  feed,  they  were  met  by  a 
cool  young  woman  and  a  ministerial  man.  It  was 
a  coffee  house  established  to  offset  the  influence 
of  the  saloon.  At  the  rear  end  of  the  room  a  young 
fellow  played  upon  a  wheezing  melodion.  Girls 
were  serving  coffee.  On  the  walls  were  pictures 
of  the  Prodigal's  Return,  Daniel  in  the  Lion's  Den, 
Jacob  before  Pharaoh,  The  Old  Home,  several  cows, 
a  horse  with  his  head  over  a  barred  gate,  and  a 
child  lamenting  over  a  broken  doll.    Howard  called 


DID  NOT  TOUCH  HER.  185 

attention  to  the  fact  that  the  sandwiches  were  thin 
and  that  the  coffee  looked  pale.  "It  is  charity,"  said 
he,  "and  charity  is  pale.  Now,  let  -me  take  you 
to  the  enemy — the  den  against  which  these  mild 
batters  are  directed." 

They  went  to  a  saloon.  The  place  was  ablaze 
with  light.  The  walls  were  hung  with  paintings, 
some  of  them  costly,  some  modest,  others  repre- 
senting figures  as  nude  as  Lorado's  nymphs.  On 
a  side  counter  was  a  roast  of  beef,  weighing  at  least 
a  hundred  pounds.  "Look  at  that,"  said  Howard. 
"Vice  sets  us  a  great  roast — and  for  five  cents,  a 
glass  of  beer,  the  vagabond  may  feast." 

"The  devil  pandering  to  the  drunkard  and  the 
glutton,"  replied  the  preacher. 

"But  the  devil  is  not  pale ;  he  is  not  niggardly — 
he  is  bountiful.  To  cope  with  him.  Virtue  must 
be  more  liberal — give  more  beef  and  better  coffee." 

"Good,"  said  the  minister.  "I  am  going  to 
preach  a  sermon  on  the  Virtue  of  Vice." 

"Red  beef  versus  pale  coffee,"  Howard  said,  as 
they  stepped  out.  "And  now,"  he  added,  "let  us  get 
something  to  eat  and  then  go  home." 

"Home,"  repeated  the  preacher.  "I  have  no 
home — I  have  lodgings. 


186  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"I  know,  and  I  mean  that  you  must  go  home 
with  me." 

Bradley  muttered  a  protest,  but  was  deHghted 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  Agnes  again  so  soon. 
He  had  spent  the  afternoon  at  the  Judge's  house, 
had  left  to  unite  in  marriage  a  servant  girl  and  a 
hackman,  and  now  wanted  an  excuse  to  return,  not 
that  he  needed  one,  for  the  Judge  had  urged  upon 
him  the  freedom  of  the  house ;  but  timid  love  must 
show  cause,  or  rather  must  apologize  to  appear- 
ances. And,  though  the  cause  now  was  not  strong, 
yet  he  argued  that  the  fact  of  meeting  Howard 
would  make  it  valid  enough.  He  felt  that  his 
secret  was  not  known  to  the  Judge,  as  if  that  would 
have  made  any  diflerence ;  and  he  was  sure  that  the 
girl  did  not  more  than  suspect  him.  He  wanted 
her  to  suspect  him,  for  there  was  a  sweetness  in  it, 
but  he  wanted  it  to  be  as  yet  only  a  suspicion.  He 
did  not  acknowledge  that  he  had  quite  made  up 
his  mind  regarding  her  fitness  as  a  wife ;  and  when 
a  man  thus  reasons  he  is  hopelessly  entangled. 
When  a  m.an  decides  that  a  woman  is  not  fitted  to 
be  his  wife  he  may  have  arrived  at  reason  but  has 
stopped  short  of  love. 

They  went  to  a  place  that  makes  a  specialty  of 
crabs  and  sat  down  in  the  cool  breath  of  an  electric 


DID  NOT  TOUCH  HER.  187 

fan.     "Quite  a  difference  in  our  bill  of  fare,"  said 
Bradley,  taking  up  a  long  card  framed  in  brass 
edged  wood. 

"And  quite  as  much  difference  in  our  company," 
Howard  replied. 

"The  old  saying,  Howard :  'One  half  the  world 
doesn't  know  how  the  other  half  lives.'  " 

"Doesn't  know  how  the  other  half  dies,"  said 
Howard. 

"You  are  sententious  tonight.  I  have  led  you 
into  a  place  that  has  sharpened  your  wits." 

"But  not  into  a  place  that  sharpened  my  appetite. 
But  it  makes  a  meal  all  the  more  enjoyable  after- 
ward.   Do  you  find  anything  that  hits  your  fancy?" 

During  the  meal  the  preacher  talked  of  the  vices 
of  a  great  city.  A  truthful  farmer  could  have  told 
him  that  there  are  almost  as  many  vices  in  the 
country,  and  an  observant  moralist  could  have  as- 
sured him  that  the  great  mass  of  women  parading 
the  sidewalks  at  night  were  sent  thither  by  the 
rural  reprobate,  proprietor  of  a  horse  and  buggy. 

"Vice  is  in  man,"  said  Howard. 

"Ah,  but  how  are  we  to  eradicate  it  ?" 

"By  educating  woman." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  fully  comprehend  you." 

"Were  you  ever  in  a  place  where  women  are 
shameless?" 


188  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"No,"  said  the  preacher.  "The  only  shameless 
women  I  ever  met  are  those  who  accost  me  in  the 
street." 

"And  if,"  said  Howard,  "you  were  to  go  into  a 
thousand  such  places  you  would  not  meet  a  well- 
educated  woman.  Some  of  them  are  bright ;  some 
speak  several  languages,  but  I  have  yet  to  find  one 
who  speaks  good  English.  But  we  are  on  a  subject 
that  is  as  old  as  the  ocean.  It  is,  however,  always 
new  to  one  in  your  profession,  I  suppose.  You 
preach  about  it,  and  innocence  wonders  at  your 
insight,  but  the  young  fellow  who  reports  your 
sermon  laughs  in  his  sleeve." 

"But,  my  gracious,  Howard,  what  must  we  do, 
ignore  it  all  ?" 

"I  give  it  up." 

"You  are  young  to  take  so  gloomy  a  view." 

"Oh,  I  don't  view  it  at  all,"  said  Howard.  "I 
shoulder  my  way  through  it." 

An  elderly  woman,  handsomely  dressed,  came  up 
and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  preacher,  who  arose, 
bowed  over  it  and  declared  his  pleasure  at  meet- 
ing her.  Then  he  introduced  her  to  Howard,  a 
woman  noted  for  her  work  in  the  slums.  A  part 
of  her  labor  was  to  talk  morality  to  the  girls  in  de- 
partment stores,  to  make  them  pious  and  virtuous 


DID  NOT  TOUCH  HER.  189 

on  three  dollars  a  week.  She  kept  a  house  of  refuge 
which  she  visited  once  a  day,  to  talk  to  the  women 
who  had  been  gathered  in  from  the  streets  and 
the  dens  rented  to  vice  by  the  rich.  Her  register 
showed  that  within  the  past  ten  years  thousands  of 
women  had  been  reclaimed.  But  the  register  did 
not  show  how  many  had  gone  back  to  loud  music 
and  shame,  preferring  the  glare  of  infamy,  tired  out 
with  the  simmer  of  the  tea-kettle  and  the  shadows  of 
the  kitchen.  The  preacher  had  visited  her  place 
and  had  complimented  her  upon  the  work  she  was 

doing. 

"Oh,  what  has  become  of  Margaret,  the  blonde 

girl?" 

The  matron  shook  her  head.    "She  became  dis- 
satisfied and  left  us." 

"And  the  one  called  Fanny.    Where  is  she?" 

"Oh,  she  was  too  pretty  and  went  away." 

"And  Julia?" 

"Didn't  you  hear  about  her?  Well,  well.  Why, 
the  newspapers  were  full  of  it.  She  left  us  and 
shortly  afterward  married  a  rich  man.  He  took  her 
to  his  mansion  and  gave  her  everything  that  heart 
could  wish,  but  it  did  not  suffice.  He  returned  home 
after  an  absence  from  the  city  to  find  a  drunken 
crowd  in  his  house,  and  he  turned  her  out.  I  am 
so  glad  to  have  met  you  again.    Good-bye." 


190  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Bradley  began  to  talk  of  something  foreign,  to 
lead  Howard's  mind  away,  but  the  young  man 
looked  at  him  with  a  smile  and  said :  "You  see  that 
a  palace  is  not  even  sufficient/ 

"Her  moral  nature  had  not  been  trained,"  Brad- 
ley replied. 

"It  is  not  that,  Mr.  Bradley.  Her  miserable  lit- 
tle head  had  not  been  trained.  Morality  without  in- 
tellectual force  is  a  weakness  waiting  for  a  tempta- 
tion." 

"Don't  say  that,  Howard ;  it  is  a  monstrous 
thought.  Brain  is  not  the  whole  force  of  this  life. 
There  is  something  stronger  than  brain.  Love  is 
stronger." 

"Yes,  it  overturns  brain.  And  I  will  not  argue 
against  it,  though  it  might  be  the  cause  of  thousands 
of  wretched  feet  on  our  thoroughfares  tonight.  It 
is  a  glory  or  a  disgrace.  But  we  have  been  moral- 
ists long  enough.    Let  us  go  home." 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.       191 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WITH  AN  EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR. 

Mrs.  Elbridge  met  Howard  and  the  preacher  in 
the  hall.  She  told  them  that  the  girls  had  gone  to 
a  meeting  of  the  Epworth  League,  a  short  dis- 
tance away.  They  had  gone  to  a  religious  gather- 
ering  held  in  the  interest  of  the  young,  but  the 
preacher  felt  a  deadening  sense  of  disappointment. 
"They  will  be  back  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Elbridge,  seem- 
ine  to  divine  the  effect  her  information  had  made 

o 

upon  him.  Howard  heard  his  father  and  Uncle 
William  talking  in  the  office.  "We  will  wait  for 
the  girls  in  here,"  he  said,  leading  the  way  into 
the  drawing  room.  Mrs.  Elbridge  went  in  to  tell 
the  Judge,  and  shortly  afterward  entered  the  draw- 
ing room  with  him.  The  old  gentleman  paid  no 
attention  to  Howard,  but  warmly  shook  hands  with 
Bradley,  as  if  he  had  not  seen  him  only  a  few  hours 
before. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bradley." 

Howard  glanced  at  his  mother  and  she  read  a 


192  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

communication  in  his  eye.  It  was  that  in  the  old 
man's  enthusiasm  there  was  added  evidence  of 
mental  weakness.  The  Latin  may  express  delight 
at  seeing  one  a  dozen  times  a  day,  but  with  an 
Anglo-Saxon  more  than  one  "delight"  within  twen- 
ty-four hours  is  an  extreme. 

Bradley  looked  embarrassed.  He  said  that  he 
was  glad  to  see  the  Judge,  which  was  hardly  true, 
as  he  was  not  prepared  at  that  moment  to  be  glad 
or  even  pleased.  His  heart  had  gone  over  to  the 
Epworth  League,  not  to  worship  God,  but  one  of 
God's  creatures,  which,  after  all,  is  a  pardonable 
backsliding.  He  remarked  that  he  and  Howard 
had  encountered  quite  an  adventure,  giving  it  in 
detail,  but  to  avoid  any  moralizing,  having  had 
enough  of  that  for  one  evening,  hastened  to  change 
the  subject,  asking  if  Mr.  William  had  become  any 
nearer  settled  as  to  his  dates.  This  brought  a  flow 
of  good  humor.  The  Judge  looked  toward  the 
door.  *'He  has  so  far  improved,"  said  he,  "as  to 
admit  that  at  times  he  may  possibly  be  wrong.  I 
asked  him  if  it  were  possible  to  be  right,  and  then 
we  had  our  battle  to  fight  over  again."  He  offered 
the  preacher  a  cigar,  but  ignored  his  son.  The 
mother  noticed  it  and  sighed.  Howard  smiled  at 
her  sadly,  and  shook  his  head.     Bradley  took  the 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.        193 

cigar  abstractedly  and  after  holding  it  for  a  time,  of- 
fered it  to  Howard,  who  declined  it.  The  Judge 
glanced  at  him  but  said  nothing.  William  came  in. 
*7ohn,"  said  he,  after  speaking  to  Bradley,  "I  saw 
old  Bodsford  this  morning." 

"Not  old  Bill  Bodsford." 

"Yes,  sir,  old  Bill." 

"I  thought  he  died  years  ago." 

"No,  he  has  been  out  in  Colorado.  I  haven't 
seen  him  since  seventy-eight." 

"Are  you  sure?"  the  Judge  asked,  winking  at 
Bradley. 

"I  ought  to  know.  I  met  him  in  St.  Louis  in 
seventy-eight— seventy-eight  or  seventy-nine— in 
July,  about  the  fifth." 

"About  the  fifth.  How  can  a  date  be  about  the 
fifth?" 

"I  mean  that  it  was  either  the  fourth,  fifth  or 
sixth.  He  told  me  then  that  he  was  on  his  way 
to  New  Orleans,  by  boat.  It  was  during  that  in- 
tensely hot  weather  when  so  many  people  were 
sun — but  that  was  in  seventy-nine,  wasn't  it?" 

"I  don't  remember,"  said  the  Judge,  winking  at 
Howard  by  mistake  and  then  frowning  to  unde- 
ceive him. 

"Yes,  I  think  it  was." 

13 


194  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Seventy-nine,"  said  the  preacher,  at  a  venture. 

"Then  I  couldn't  have  seen  old  Bill  in  seventy- 
eight.  But  I  saw  him  today — and  he  looks  like  a 
grizzly  bear.  And  he  didn't  seem  to  be  in  very  good 
circumstances.  But  the  last  time  I  saw  him  before 
that—" 

"In  seventy-nine,"  interrupted  the  Judge. 

"Well,  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,  John.  Let  me 
see.  I  was  in  St.  Paul  and  went  from  there  directly 
to  St.  Louis.  Yes.  Now,  I  haven't  been  in  St. 
Paul  but  once  since  seventy-eight  and  that  was  year 
before  last.  Went  directly  to  St.  Louis.  It  must 
have  been  seventy-eight,  John.    Yes,  it  was." 

"Well,  go  ahead  with  your  story,"  said  the  Judge. 

"Oh,  it's  no  story.  I  was  simply  telling  you 
when  I  met  old  Bill  the  last  time." 

"And  is  that  all  there  is  to  it?" 

"All!  Isn't  it  enough?  I  didn't  start  to  tell  a 
story  and  you  know  it  well  enough.  Look  here, 
Howard,"  he  added,  turning  upon  the  young  law- 
yer, "are  you  fixing  to  jump  on  me,  too?" 

"Not  at  all,  Uncle  Billy." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Billy,  is  it?  Then  I  know  you've 
got  it  in  for  me.  Mr.  Bradley,  I  studied  for  the 
ministry — not  very  hard,  I  admit — but  I  studied, 
and  I  am  sorry  sometimes  that  I  didn't  go  so  far  as 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.        195 

to  put  on  the  cloth.    It  would  have  at  least  protected 
me  from  ridicule." 

Bradley  smiled  upon  him  in  a  lonesome  sort  of 
way,  with  his  ear  turned  toward  the  front  door, 
listening  for  the  coming  of  Agnes.  The  family  joke, 
so  eternally  green  for  the  Judge,  was  but  dry  grass 
to  him.  His  soul  was  panting  for  the  sweet  waters 
of  love,  the  babbling  brook  of  a  girl's  dehghtful 
mischief.  But  the  mind  can  talk  shop  while  the 
soul  is  panting.  ''You  no  doubt  would  have  added 
strength  to  our  profession,"  he  said.  "I  call  it  pro- 
fession in  want  at  the  present  moment  of  a  better 
term.  Why  did  you  give  up  your  intention?  Not 
want  of  faith,  I  hope." 

Mrs.  Elbridge  shook  her  head  as  if  to  imply  that 
there  could  be  no  want  of  faith  in  one  connected 
with  her  family.  ''Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Wil- 
liam. "But  the  scheme,  if  I  may  so  express  it, 
struck  me  as  being  not  exactly  useless,  but,  let  us 
say,  hopeless." 

"Hopeless,"  echoed  the  preacher. 

"Yes.  The  warfare  has  been  going  on  nearly 
two  thousand  years,  and  the  victory  is  not  yet  in 
sight." 

"At  what  date  did  it  begin  ?"  the  Judge  asked. 

William  began  to  puff  up.     "Now,  look  here, 


196  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

John,  this  is  a  serious  discussion.  Is  it  possible  that 
there  is  nothing  serious  except  in  the  law,  in  the 
names  of  your  old  clients  ?  Do  you  keep  everything 
serious  shut  up  in  your  safe  ?" 

The  Judge's  countenance  changed,  like  the  sud- 
den turning  down  of  a  light,  and  he  made  a  dis- 
tressful gesture.    ''Don't,  William  ;  don't  say  that." 

''Why,  what  did  I  say  to  shock  you  so  ?" 

The  Judge  got  up  and  slowly  walked  back  into 
his  office.  William  looked  at  Mrs.  Elbridge. 
"Rachel,  did  I  say  anything?" 

"He  isn't  well,  William,  and  we  never  know  what 
is  gomg  to  displease  him.  But  he  means  nothing 
by  it,  Mr.  Bradley,"  she  added.  "Sometimes  he  be- 
gins to  joke  in  its  old  way,  but  it  has  been  long 
since  we  heard  his  laugh  in  its  old  heartiness.  I 
wish  you  would  talk  to  him,  Mr.  Bradley.  I  know 
he  is  not  well,  but  he  won't  permit  a  doctor  to  come 
near  him." 

The  preacher  assured  her  that  he  would.  He  did 
not  believe  that  there  was  any  serious  trouble ;  it 
was  the  strain  of  former  years  now  claiming  its  debt 
of  his  constitution.  "Nature  does  not  forget,"  said 
he.  "But  nature  may  be  humored.  I  have  noticed 
a  change  in  him,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he 
is  gradually  improving." 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.       197 

Howard  was  silent,  though  the  minister  looked  at 
him  at  the  conclusion  of  his  speech  as  if  expecting 
some  sort  of  reply.  "He  doesn't  forget  about  my 
dates,  no  matter  how  much  of  a  change  he  has 
undergone,"  said  William.  "But,  as  to  our  discus- 
sion :  I  read  some  little  in  those  days,  and  my 
mind  led  me  into  bogs  and  swamps — into  doubts, 
if  I  may  say  so.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  whole 
plan  was  marked  out  and  couldn't  be  changed.  I 
remember  having  come  across  this  startling  ques- 
tion :  'If  man  can  make  his  own  destiny  ;  if  he  can, 
by  his  own  free  will,  arrest  the  accomplishment  of 
the  general  plan,  what  becomes  of  God?'  That 
struck  me,  sir.  like  a  knockout  blow." 

''And  yet,"  said  Howard,  "you  say  that  the 
French  have  a  slop  which  they  call  literature." 

"What!    I  said  so?    Well,  what  if  I  did?" 

"You  have  quoted  Balzac." 

"Have  I?  But,  sir,  do  you  appoint  yourself 
to  preside  over  my  conscience?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything  about  your  conscience. 
Uncle  Billy." 

"Oh,  no,  but  you  Uncle  Billy  me  into  a  broil, 
that's  what  you  do." 

The  preacher's  mind  had  caught  the  quotation, 
relating  as  it  did  to  the  shop,  and  he  smiled  as  he 


198  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

said :  "I  am  afraid,  Uncle  William,  that  the  young 
man  has  read  too  much  for  us.  In  an  argument 
he  is  a  porcupine  with  sharp  quills." 

"A  pig  with  the  bristles  of  impudence,"  said  Wil- 
liam, and  smiled  an  apology  to  the  mother. 

''Nevertheless,"  remarked  the  preacher,  returning 
to  the  subject,  "I  don't  see  how  the  eye  of  faith 
could  have  been  dimmed  by  such  a  mote.  Con- 
science— " 

"Meaning  education,"  Howard  interrupted. 

The  minister  bowed  to  Howard,  but  continued  to 
address  himself  to  William.  "Conscience  ought  to 
have  pointed  out  the  good  you  could  do.  You 
could  at  least  have  gone  to  a  foreign  country — " 

"Or  off  Van  Buren  Street,"  said  Howard. 

Bradley  braced  himself  for  a  debate.  Alone  with 
Howard  he  might  have  said,  "let  it  pass,"  but  in 
the  presence  of  a  woman,  a  believer  in  his  faith,  a 
preacher  must  not  shun  a  controversy.  It  would 
be  an  acknowledgment  of  the  strength  of  the  doubt 
and  of  the  weakness  of  faith.  So  he  braced  himself 
against  the  wall  of  creed,  and  with  polemic  finger 
raised  was  about  to  proceed  when  he  heard  the 
front  door  open. 

"The  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Elbrldge,  glad  enough  to 
break  in. 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.       199 

*'So  soon?"  remarked   Bradley,  looking  at  his 
watch  and  meaning  so  late.     Florence  and  Agnes 
came  in,  laughing.     Bradley  got  up  with  a  bow. 
''You  here?"  said  Agnes,  and  then  corrected  her- 
self by  saying  that  she  was  pleased  to  see  him  there. 
''I  never  know  how  anything  is  going  to  sound," 
she  continued,  throwing  her  hat  on  a  sofa.    "It's  all 
improvisation  with  me.     I  never  saw  as  awkward 
a  man  in  my  life—"     Bradley  looked  at  her  with 
such  a  start  that  she  hastened  to  exclaim:     "Oh, 
not  you,  Mr.  Bradley— the  young  man  who  walked 
home  with  us.     I  couldn't  for  the  life  of  me  get  it 
out  of  my  head  that  he  wasn't  on  stilts."     She  sat 
down  on  the  sofa.    Bradley  made  bold  to  go  over 
and  sit  down  beside  her,  taking  up  her  hat,  looking 
about  for  some  place  to  put  it  and  ending  by  hold- 
ing it  on  his  knees,  awkwardly  pressing  them  to- 
gether.   He  felt  that  Howard  was  laughing  at  him ; 
he  knew  that  Agnes  was.     But  she  didn't  offer  to 
take  the  hat.     Florence,   however,   relieved  him, 
and  then  everyone  laughed  except  William.     The 
preacher  had  been  placed  in  an  awkward  position, 
though  anyone  might  have  made  a  grace  of  it— any- 
one but  a  man  whom  custom  almost  forces  to  adopt 
solemnity  as  a  badge  of  office ;   and  William  gave 
Howard  credit  for  it  all.     In  certain  humors  he 


200  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

would  have  charged  the  young  man  with  a  rainy 
day,  a  frost  or  a  cold  wind.  He  looked  at  him  in 
his  reproachful  way  and  cleared  his  throat. 

**What  is  it  now,  Uncle  William  ?"  Howard  asked. 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me.     You  ought  to  know." 

**But  I  don't.  I  haven't  said  a  word  or  done  a 
thing  that  you  should  give  me  the  bad  eye." 

'"Rachel,"  said  the  old  man,  *'it  seems  to  me  that 
the  more  he  reads  the  more  slang  he  uses.  The 
'bad  eye !'    That  belongs  to  the  police  court." 

'Then  it  is  not  a  quotation  from  Balzac." 

"Never  you  mind  about  quotations.  I  have 
quoted  before  you  were  born — and  I  knew,  sir, 
from  what  source.  But  I  won't  stay  to  be  brow- 
beaten.   I  will  leave  you." 

"By  the  way,"  Howard  called  after  him,  "if  you 
want  a  pipe  of  good  tobacco  step  into  my  room. 
You'll  find  a  fresh  can  on  the  table." 

"I  don't  want  any  of  your  tobacco,  sir;  I  don't 
want  anything  you've  got." 

Bradley  might  have  thought  that  in  this  family 
the  joke  was  overworked,  that  is,  had  he  been  pre- 
pared to  think  anything.  But  he  was  not.  His 
mind  was  aglow  from  the  light  beside  him,  and  his 
ideas,  if  at  that  moment  he  had  any,  were  as  gold 
fishes   in   a   globe,   swimming   round   and    round. 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.       201 

Florence  went  to  the  piano.  Howard  stood  beside 
her.  Mrs.  Elbridge  went  out.  It  was  time,  and 
she  knew  it.  WilHam  appeared  at  the  door.  "I 
thought  you  said  that  your  tobacco  was  on  the  table 
in  your  room.  What  right  have  you  got— what 
cause  have  I  ever  given  you  to  deceive  me  in  that 

way: 

"You  said  you  didn't  want  any  of  my  tobacco." 
"You  said  it  was  on  the  table.    Of  course  I  don't 
want  it — I  wouldn't  have  it." 

"You  just  wanted  to  see  where  it  was." 
"I  don't  care  anything  about  it,  sir.    I  want  you 
to  understand  that  as  you  go  along." 

"All  right,  but  the  can  of  tobacco,  I  remember 
now,  is  in  the  closet  on  the  shelf." 

WilHam  went  away,  and  the  young  man  knew 
that  in  the  morning  his  tobacco  can  would  be 
empty.  Florence  played  the  air  of  a  slow,  old  love 
song,  and  between  the  notes  fell  the  soft  words,  her 
own  and  Howard's ;  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  eyes  so  familiar  to  both,  eyes  they  could  no 
more  remember  first  seeing  than  we  can  remember 
the  first  sky,  the  first  star— love  as  old  as  recollec- 
tion and  as  young  as  the  moment. 

There  is  one  thing  we  can  always  say,  and  Brad- 
ley said  it:    'T  shall  miss  you  when  you  are  gone." 


202  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

'Tm  not  gone  yet,"  Agnes  replied. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  getting  tired  of  us." 

"Tired  ?"  She  raised  her  eyes  and  he  looked  into 
them,  into  the  depth  of  their  blue  mystery.  "No, 
I  am  having  lots  of  fun." 

"Fun!     Is  that  all?" 

"Isn't  that  enough?    That's  all  I  want." 

"But  hfe  is  not  all  fun." 

"No?"    She  raised  her  eyes  again. 

"Life  is  serious,"  he  said.  "The  greatest  joy  is 
serious ;  the  greatest  happiness  comes  to  the  heart 
when  the  heart  is  solemn." 

"Oh,  1  don't  think  so.    I  cry  when  I'm  serious." 

"There  is  joy  in  a  tear." 

"Not  in  mine." 

He  did  not  hear  the  front  door  open.  For  him 
all  the  world  had  come  in.  He  did  not  hear  a  step 
at  the  door.  Bodney  came  in.  Florence  left  off 
playing  and  turned  about  on  the  stool.  Bradley 
arose  and  shook  hands  with  him,  said  that  he  was 
glad  to  meet  him,  and  lied.  He  would  not  at  that 
moment  have  been  glad  to  see  the  glory  promised 
to  the  faithful.  But  he  lied,  as  we  all  of  us  are  com- 
pelled to  lie,  for  to  lie  at  times  is  the  necessary 
martyrdom  of  the  conscience.  Bodney's  face  was 
bright  and  his  laugh  was  gay.  "You  are  as  merry 
as  a  serenade,"  said  Florence. 


EAR  TURNED  TOWARD  THE  DOOR.        203 

"As  happy  as  a  lark,"  he  replied.  The  love-mak- 
ing was  spoiled.  Bradley  said  that  it  was  time  to 
take  his  leave.  Bodney  followed  him  to  the  door, 
and  beneath  the  hall  light  handed  him  a  bank  note, 
apologizing  for  not  having  sooner  returned  the  loan 
of  ten  dollars. 

"But  you  have  given  me  twenty,"  said  Bradley. 

"Have  I?  Then  give  the  extra  ten  to  the 
church." 


204  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


LYING  ON  THE  SIDEWALK. 


Bradley  lived  in  Aldine  Square.  By  the  light  of 
the  first  gas  lamp  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  found 
that  it  wanted  but  three  minutes  to  midnight.  At 
the  corner  of  the  street  he  waited  for  a  cross-town 
car,  but  as  none  was  within  sight,  he  walked  on, 
thinking  little  of  the  distance  home,  which  was  not 
great,  for  his  mind  was  on  Agnes.  He  had  not  de- 
cided that  she  would  make  a  good  wife,  but  he 
knew  that  he  would  ask  her  to  marry  him.  He 
believed  that  his  happiness  depended  upon  her  de- 
cision. This  is  a  conclusion  reached  by  nearly 
every  man.  His  salary  was  not  large,  for  his  church 
was  poor,  but  it  was  growing  rich  in  numbers  and 
that  meant  a  popularity  insuring  larger  pay.  But 
why  should  he  consider  his  income?  They  could 
live  happily  in  Aldine  Square.  It  was  a  charming 
place,  and  so  romantic  that  one  would  scarcely  ex- 
pect to  find  it  in  Chicago.  It  might  have  been  a 
part  of  Paris.    It  was  come  upon  suddenly,  its  gate. 


LYING  ON  THE  SIDEWALK.  205 

with  two  great  posts  of  stone,  opening  into  the 
street.  There  was  a  plastered  wall,  and  it  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  built  for  ages.  Through  the  gate, 
which  was  always  left  open,  the  view  was  attrac- 
tive—there were  trees,  shrubbery,  flowers,  a  pool,  a 
fountain  and  a  carriage  drive.     It  would   charm 

Agnes. 

The  street  was  deserted,  with  the  exception  of  a 
straggler  here  and  there,  turned  out  of  a  saloon. 
''Vice  shutting  its  red  eye,"  he  mused,  as  one  place 
closed  its  door.  Looking  ahead  he  saw  a  man  lean- 
ing against  a  lamp  post.  As  Bradley  came  up  the 
man,  stepping  out,  said :  "Mister,  will  you  please 
tell  me  what  time  it  is  ?" 

Bradley  halted  and  took  out  his  watch,  and,  hold- 
ing it  so  as  to  catch  the  light,  was  about  to  tell 
him  when  the  man  snatched  the  watch,  broke  the 
chain  and  fled  down  an  alley.  The  preacher 
shouted  after  him,  ran  a  short  distance  down  the 
alley,  but,  realizing  that  pursuit  was  folly,  if  not  dan- 
gerous, returned  to  the  street  and  continued  his 
way  homeward,  the  piece  of  chain  dangUng  from 
his  pocket.  He  thought  of  going  to  the  nearest 
station  to  report  the  robbery,  but  his  mind  flew 
back  to  x\gnes.  How  delicious  it  would  be  to  have 
her  all  to  himself,  sitting  by  the  fountain  in  the 


206  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

summer  air.  The  perfume  of  the  flowers  would 
be  sweeter,  the  falling  of  the  water  more  musical. 
They  would  read  together  till  the  twilight  came, 
read  silly  books,  if  she  preferred  them ;  and  in  the 
twilight  they  would  read  a  book  in  which  God  had 
written — the  book  of  their  own  hearts.  And  in 
cold  ^yeather  they  would  sit  in  the  warm  light,  at 
the  window,  and  look  out  upon  the  little  park,  the 
shrubbery  covered  with  snow,  the  statuary  of 
winter.  He  would  never  seek  to  change  the  cur- 
rent of  her  mind.  Nature  had  fashioned  it  a  laugh- 
ing rivulet  and  it  should  never  be  a  sighing  wave. 
With  her  in  the  congregation  he  could  be  more 
eloquent,  touch  more  hearts  through  his  love  for 
her ;  he  would  be  more  akin  to  the  young,  for  her 
love  would  be  as  a  stream  of  youth  constantly 
flowing  into  his  life.  Nature  might  have  shown  her 
power  in  the  creation  of  man,  but  surely  her  glory 
in  the  creation  of  woman.  He  drew  a  contrast  be- 
tween Florence  and  Agnes.  Florence  was  stronger, 
and  had  more  dignity ;  but,  of  course,  he  believed 
that  Agnes  was  more  affectionate,  and  love  was 
more  beautiful  than  strength. 

He  turned  into  the  street  leading  to  the  Aldine 
gate.  And  how  quiet  everything  was.  It  was  a 
love  night,  the  leaves  murmuring.    But,  what  was 


LYING  ON  THE  SIDEWALK.  207 

that  lying  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  gate?    A 

woman.     He  stood  looking  down  at  her.     Could 

she  have  been  murdered.    The  light  was  not  strong, 

but  he  could  see  that  she  was  not  ill  dressed.    She 

was    lying  on   her  right   side.     He  touched    her 

shoulder  and   she   turned   upon   her  back   with   a 

moan.     He  leaned  over  her  and  caught  the  fumes 

of  liquor.     But  he  got  down  upon  his  knees,  raised 

her  head  and  spoke  to  her. 

"What  are  you  domg  here,  poor  girl?"  he  said. 

The  light  falling  upon  her  face  showed  that  she 

was  young.    She  moaned  and  mumbled  something. 

He  asked  her  where  she  lived,  but  she  could  not 

tell  him. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do  wuth  you,"  he  said. 

"Don't  leave  me,"  she  mumbled. 

"I  will  be  back  in  a  moment,"  he  said,  placing 
her  with  her  back  against  the  wall.  Then  he  ran 
to  the  fountain,  wet  his  handkerchief,  and  returning 
with  it  dripping,  bathed  her  face.  It  was  hot  and 
feverish.  The  cold  handkerchief  appeared  some- 
what to  revive  her. 

"Don't  you  know  where  you  live?" 

'T  can't — don't  know  the  number." 

"Nor  the  street?" 

"Nothing." 


208  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Again  he  bathed  her  face,  and  taking  his  hat 
fanned  her  with  it.     "How  did  you  come  here  ?" 

"They  must  have  left  me." 

"Then  you  were  with  someone." 

"Yes— three." 

"Where  had  you  been?" 

"Wine  room.  Don't  turn  me  over  to  the  police. 
I  won't  go  there  again." 

"Can't  you  remember  now  where  you  live?" 

"It  is  a  long  ways  from  here — over  on  the  West 
Side.  I  won't  go  there  in  this  fix.  I  would  rather 
die." 

"Then  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"Don't  turn  me  over  to  the  police,"  she  moaned. 

He  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  looking  up 
and  down  the  street.  From  the  corner  came  the 
whack  of  the  policeman's  club  against  a  lamp  post. 
Not  far  away  the  fountain  splashed  its  music.  "Can 
you  walk?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  try.    But  where  are  you  going  to  take  me?" 

"To  my  home." 

"No,"  she  cried  piteously.  "I  don't  want  a 
woman  to  see  me  this  way." 

"No  woman  is  there  to  see  you.     Come  on." 

He  led  her  along,  supporting  her  with  his  arm. 
He  did  not  look  to  see  if  there  were  any  windows 


LYING  ON  THE  SIDEWALK.  209 

lighted  about  the  square ;  he  did  not  think  of  scan- 
dal ;  he  thought  of  the  poor  thing  heavy  upon  his 
arm,  not  as  a  preacher,  but  as  a  man.  He  carried 
her  up  the  stone  steps,  unlocked  the  door  and  went 
into  the  hall,  into  the  red  light  falling  from  the 
lamp.  Up  the  stairs  he  led  her,  into  a  front  room, 
striking  a  match  as  he  entered,  lighted  the  gas  and 
eased  her  down  upon  a  chair.  She  was  deathly 
pale. 

"Let  me  lie  down,"  she  said. 

He  pointed  to  the  bed,  stepped  out  into  another 
room  and  drew  the  portieres.  Then  he  lay  down 
upon  a  sofa,  not  to  think  of  what  he  had  done,  but 
of  Agnes. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  housekeeper's  tap  upon 
the  door.  "Come  in,"  he  called,  and  as  she  entered 
he  thought  of  the  woman.  The  housekeeper  was 
fat  and  full  of  scandal.  She  walked  straightway 
to  the  portieres  and  drew  them  aside  to  enter  the 
room,  and  started  back  with  a  gasp  of  surprise. 

"My  sister,"  said  Bradley.  "She  came  on  a  late 
train,  and  is  going  out  early.  Don't  disturb  her. 
She  brought  me  bad  news  from  home,  and  must 
go  on  further  to  see  my  other  brother.  She  could 
not  explain  by  telegraph.  It  involves  the  settling 
of  an  estate." 

14 


210  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

He  was  now  standing  beside  the  housekeeper 
and  could  see  into  the  adjoining  room.  The  girl, 
with  a  remnant  of  modesty,  had  drawn  the  covering 
over  her.  • 

Two  days  later,  Sunday,  at  the  close  of  services, 
a  woman  came  forward,  held  out  her  hand  to  Brad- 
ley and  said:    "I  want  you  to  pray  for  me." 

Her  face  was  pale  and  there  was  true  repentance 
in  her  eyes.  ''You  are  my  sister,"  Bradley  replied, 
and  this  time  he  did  not  believe  that  he  had  told 
a  falsehood.  She  went  out,  with  tears  on  her 
cheeks;  and  a  lady  who  had  come  up  to  compli- 
ment the  preacher  on  his  sermon,  asked : 

''Who  is  that  girl?" 

"I  don't  know  her  name." 

"She  met  me  just  as  I  was  coming  in,"  said  the 
lady,  and  was  anxious  as  to  whether  or  not  this  was 
your  church.  She  was  evidently  not  looking  for 
denominations." 

She  was  not.  She  was  looking  for  something 
nearer  God — a  man. 


MADE  HIS  PROPOSITION.  211 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MADE   HIS   PROPOSITION. 

The  farmers  have  a  saying  to  illustrate  restless- 
ness :  "Like  a  hen  on  a  hot  griddle."  And  Rod- 
ney thought  of  it  the  next  day,  as  he  sat  about  the 
ofTfice  waiting  for  the  noon  hour,  for  the  game  did 
not  start  before  then.  He  tried  to  read,  but  the 
words  were  as  the  echo  of  a  pot  that  had  been 
played.  He  attempted  to  write,  but  called  it  a  mis- 
deal. How  swift  was  life,  viewed  from  the  window, 
and  yet  how  slow  time  was,  limping,  halting,  stand- 
ing still,  boulders  between  minutes  and  mountains 
betvv-een  hours.  Surely  his  watch  was  slow.  Xo, 
for  a  bell  confirmed  it  in  its  record  of  the  forenoon's 
slothfulness.  He  thought  of  Goyle,  and  wondered 
why  he  did  not  come  to  make  his  proposition,  if  it 
were  so  important.  He  went  out  to  walk  in  the 
cool  air  blowing  from  the  lake,  and  the  Wexton 
stairs  arose  before  him.  He  rang  the  bell,  and, 
standing  there  waiting  for  the  grim  face  of  the 
porter,  reminded  himself  of  an  old  horse  at  a  stable 


212  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

door.  Inside  they  were  cleaning  up,  sweeping, 
dusting,  getting  ready  for  another  day  and  another 
night.  From  o&  in  a  bedroom  came  the  snoring 
of  a  man  who  had  gone  to  sleep,  drunk  and  broke ; 
but  the  porter  v/ould  bid  him  a  pleasant  good- 
morning  and  would  give  him  a  drink  from  a  bottle 
kept  in  ice  all  night.  Bodney  sat  down  at  a  window 
and  took  up  a  newspaper  and  glanced  at  the  report 
of  a  committee  appointed  to  investigate  gambling 
in  Chicago.  Numerous  witnesses  had  been  sum- 
moned, some  of  them  connected  with  the  poker 
clubs ;  and  in  a  vague  way  they  admitted  under 
oath  that  they  might  have  seen  men  playing  cards 
for  money,  but  could  not  recall  exactly  where.  "I 
am  looking  for  a  fool,"  said  the  Legislature. 
''What  do  you  want  with  him?"  the  Governor 
asked.  *'I  want  to  put  him  on  an  investigative  com- 
mittee," the  Legislature  replied.  *'For  the  city?" 
the  Governor  inquired.  "Yes,"  answered  the  Legis- 
lature. "Then,"  said  the  Governor,  "take  the  first 
countryman  you  come  to." 

Men  v/ith  borrowed  money  burning  in  their 
pockets  began  to  arrive,  and  each  one  was  asked 
by  an  earlier  comer  if  he  wanted  to  play  poker,  and 
though  he  had  shouldered  his  way  through  the 
crowd  to  get  there,  fearing,  that  he  might  not  find 


MADE  HIS  PROPOSITION.  213 

a  vacant  seat,  he  answered  in  a  hesitating  way, 
''Well,  I  don't  know ;  haven't  got  much  time- 
might  play  a  little  while."  It  was  a  part  of  the 
hypocrisy  of  the  game,  recognized  by  all  and  prac- 
ticed by  all. 

The  noon  meal  was  munched  and  the  game  be- 
gan.    Opposite   Bodney   sat  a  man  whose  liquor 
lapped  over  from  the  previous  day.     One  eye  was 
smaller  than  the  other,  and  on  one  cheek,  red  and 
flaming,  was  a  white  scar.     He  drew  to  everything, 
won   from  the   start  and  was  therefore  offensive. 
Bodney  opened  a  pot  on  a  pair  of  aces.    All  passed 
but  the  man  with  the  white  scar,  who  s>aid  that  he 
would  stay.     "You  are  a  pretty  good  fellow,"  he 
remarked  to  Bodney.    "I'll  help  you  along."    Bod- 
ney drew  three  cards  and  caught  his  third  ace.    The 
white  scar  drew  two  cards.     Bodney,  to  lead  him 
on,  bet  a  chip. 

''Well,"  said  the  scar,  "I  had  a  pair  of  sixes  and 
an  ace  here.  I'll  go  down  now  and  see  if  I  helped, 
and  I  won't  bet  you  unless  I  have.  Well,  I'll  have  to 
raise  you  three  dollars." 

"Raise  you  three,"  said  Bodney. 

"You  must  have  helped.  Still,  we  never  know. 
Ain't  that  so,  Jim?" 

Jim  said  that  it  was  so,  and  the  scar,  as  if  pleased 


214  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

and  reassured  in  thus  finding  his  view  confirmed, 
raised  Bodney. 

It  was  wrong  to  take  a  drunken  man's  money; 
it  was  robbery,  but  it  was  poker,  and  Bodney  raised 
him. 

"Well,  you  play  two  pairs  pretty  hard,  and  I 
don't  believe  you  can  beat  three  sixes.  Raise  you." 
Then  Bodney  began  to  study.  'T'll  call  you,"  he 
said. 

'T  drew  to  three  little  diamonds,"  said  the  fellow, 
"and  caught  a  flush."  He  spread  his  hand.  Bod- 
ney swore.  "I  never  played  with  a  drunken  man 
that  he  didn't  beat  me." 

The  fellow  looked  up  at  him  as  he  raked  in  the 
pot.  "Have  to  do  it.  My  pew  rent's  due.  Ain't 
that  right,  Jim?" 

"That's  right,"  said  Jim. 

Bad  ran  into  worse  and  rounded  up  in  a  heap  of 
disaster.  At  three  o'clock,  just  as  the  game  was 
getting  good,  as  someone  remarked,  Bodney  went 
out,  feeling  in  his  pockets.  This  becomes  a  habit 
with  the  poker  fool.  He  continues  to  search  him- 
self long  after  he  has  raked  up  the  lint  from  the 
bottom  of  his  pockets.  In  the  street  the  air  was 
stagnant  and  the  sunshine  was  a  mockery.  At  sev- 
eral places  he  tried  to  borrow  money,  but  failed ; 


MADE  HIS  PROPOSITION.  215 

his  former  accommodater,  the  druggist,  told  him 
that  he  had  a  note  to  meet  and  could  not  spare  it. 
He  was  sorry,  he  said.     Bodney  went  out,  mutter- 
ing that  he  was  a  liar.     He  went  to  the  office  and 
found  the  door  locked.    Howard  was  not  there,  and 
he    could    hide    himself,    the    peacock    whose    tail 
feathers  had  been  pulled  out.     But  before  going 
into  the  office  he  thought  of  the  old  doctor  across 
the  hall,  and  hesitated.     Perhaps  he  had  money, 
and,  having  ruined  his  mind,  might  be  fool  enough 
to  lend  it.    The  doctor  was  pleased  to  see  him.    He 
was  astonished  to  find  Bodney  so  much  interested 
in  his  affairs,  and  he  wondered  if  a  spirit  of  refor- 
mation  had    come   upon   the   youth    of   the   land. 
Bodney  said  that  of  late  he  had  begun  to  hear  much 
of  the  old  man's  skill  as  a  physician.    The  old  man 
turned  a  whitish  smile  upon  him  and  listened  like 
a  gray  rat,  bristles  resembling  feelers  sticking  out 
on  his  lip.     And  after  a  time  Bodney  asked  if  he 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  lend  ten  dollars  till  the  fol- 
lowing morning?     He  was  sorry,  but  could  not. 
That  part  of  the  mind  which  takes  account  of  money 
is  the  last  to  suffer  from  disease. 

Bodney  went  into  the  office  to  wait  for  some- 
thing, he  did  not  know  what.  He  thought  of  Brad- 
lev   and  wondered  if  he  could  find  him.    Just  then 


216  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

he  discovered  the  something  he  had  been  waiting 
for.    Goyle  came  in. 

"Halloa,  old  man,"  said  Goyle.  "I  went  up  to 
the  club  just  now  to  look  for  you  and  they  told  me 
that  you  had  gone  down  stairs." 

"Down  stairs  broke,"  Bodney  replied. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Goyle. 

"It's  not  all  right.  I'm  broke,  I  tell  you;  and 
a  man  that's  broke  is  all  wrong." 

"He  may  think  so.  I'm  glad  you  are  broke."  He 
put  his  hand  on  a  table,  leaned  forward,  and  gazed 
into  Bodney's  eyes. 

"Glad,"  said  Bodney,  bUnking. 

"Yes,  glad.  It  teaches  you  the  need  of  money. 
You  are  forced  to  shove  back  your  chair,  to  give 
your  place  to  a  brute  standing  behind  you.  You 
see  the  deal  go  on.  You  are  frozen  out,  but  no  one 
cares.  That  game  is  life,  the  affairs  of  man  epit- 
omized ;  you  put  in  your  last  chip,  you  lose,  and 
you  have  failed  in  business.  A  fellow  who  hasn't 
one-tenth  the  education  has  succeeded.  He  stacks 
up  the  chips  that  you  have  bought,  and  for  consola- 
tion he  says  that  chips  have  no  home.    Am  I  right  ?" 

"Yes,  you  are.  But  I  want  to  get  back  into  the 
affairs  of  man.    Let  me  have  ten  dollars." 

"Two  weeks  from  now  I  can  give  you  ten  thou- 


MADE  HIS  PROPOSITION.  217 

sand.  Listen  to  me.  Wait  a  moment."  He  closed 
the  door,  came  back,  drew  a  chair  in  front  of  Bod- 
nev,  sat  down  and  leaned  forward.  "Now,  I  will 
submit  my  proposition." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can  entertain  any  proposi- 
tion. I  am  in  too  desperate  a  fix  to  go  into  any 
sort  of  an  enterprise.  My  blood  is  full  of  fever. 
I've  got  this  gambliag  mania  on  me  and  I'm 
tempted  to  cut  my  throat.  One  evening  you  took 
me  to  a  supper  that  was  not  to  cost  anything.  It 
has  cost  everything,  all  the  money  I  had,  my  honor, 
my  future,  my — " 

"That's  rot,  George.  I  introduced  you  to  a  sup- 
per that  gave  you  experience — real  knowledge  of 
the  v.'orld.  You  have  met  men  without  their  dress- 
coats — you  know  man  as  he  is  and  not  as  he  says 
he  is.  You  were  bUnd  and  I  opened  your  eyes  to 
the  fact  that  money  is  not  the  reward  of  the  honest 
and  industrious.  It  is  the  agent  of  hell,  and  must 
be  won  by  means  of  the  devil.  You  ought  to  have 
been  a  rich  man.  If  there'd  been  any  foresight  you 
would  have  been.  And  whose  fault  was  it  that  the 
opportunity  slipped?  Not  yours.  Now  to  my 
plan.    Look  at  me.    Child  steaHng." 

"What !"  Bodney  exclaimed. 

"I  have  laid  my  wires.     We  will  steal  children 


218  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

and  gather  in  thousands  of  dollars  in  reward  for  re- 
storing them  to  their  parents.  Hold  on.  Look 
at  me.  We  will  steal  from  the  rich,  for  that  is  al- 
ways legitimate.  We  will  have  our  agents  stationed 
here  and  there — we  will — " 

"Infamous  scoundrel,  I  could  cut  your  throat. 
I  wish  to  God  I  had." 

"Sit  down  and  listen  to  me." 

"I  won't  sit  down.  I  will  stand  and  look  you 
in  the  eye,  you  scoundrel.  Don't  put  your  hand  on 
me.    Stand  back,  or  I'll  knock  you  down." 

Goyle  sneered  at  him.  "You  can't  hit  me.  I  am 
your  master.  Now,  listen  to  me.  I  am  going  over 
into  Michigan  to  establish  a — post,  I'll  call  it.  And 
when  I  come  back,  you  will  join  me.  I  present  a 
plan  by  which  you  can  get  out  of  all  your  difficul- 
ties, and  you  turn  on  me.  Is  that  the  way  to  treat 
a  benefactor?  I  have  settled  upon  our  first  enter- 
prise. Every  day  a  nurse  and  child  are  at  a  certain 
place  in  Lincoln  Park.  The  father  is  dead  and  the 
mother  is  rich.  The  child,  I  have  found  from  the 
nurse,  is  a  boy.  I  am  engaged  to  marry  her.  While 
I  am  walking  with  her  you  steal — " 

Bodney  struck  him  in  the  mouth— struck  him 
with  all  the  force  of  disgrace  and  dispair.  He  fell 
and  the  blood  flowed  from  his  mouth.    He  did  not 


Bodnev  struck  him  in  the  mouth. 


£Co   <■ 


MADE  HIS  PROPOSITION.  219 

get  up ;  he  lay  with  his  head  back,  and  Bodney 
thought  that  he  saw  death  in  his  half-closed  eyes. 
He  touched  him  with  his  foot  and  spoke  to  him, 
but  he  did  not  move.  Someone  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  without  a  tremor  Bodney  opened  it,  ex- 
pecting to  find  Howard.  The  old  doctor  stood  in 
the  hall.  "I  am  sorry  I  refused  to  let  you  have  the 
money,"  he  said.  "And  now,  if  you  assure  me 
that—" 

''I  am  obhged  to  you,"  Bodney  broke  in,  "but  I 
do  not  need  it.  I  wanted  to  gamble  with  it,  but  I 
have  quit  gambling.  I  have  overthrown  the  evil. 
Here,"  lie  added,  taking  the  old  man's  arm  and 
leading  him  into  the  room.  "There  it  lies  bleed- 
ing," he  said,  pointing.  "Perhaps  it  needs  your  as- 
sistance. I  must  bid  you  good  day."  He  walked 
out,  leaving  the  old  man  alone  with  Goyle. 

"What  are  you  smiling  at?"  asked  an  acquaint- 
ance who  met  him  in  the  street. 

"Was  I  smiling?" 

"Yes,  hke  a  four-time  winner." 

"I  am  at  least  a  one-time  winner,"  Bodney  re- 
plied. He  stepped  into  a  drug  store  to  get  a  cold 
drink,  his  friend's  place,  he  noticed  after  entering. 
The  druggist  came  forward  and  thus  spoke  to  him : 
'T  was  sorrv  after  vou  went  out  that  I  didn't  let 


220  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

you  have  ten  dollars.  I  found  that  I  had  more  than 
enough  to  meet  the  note.  I  can  let  you  have  it 
now." 

Bodney  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  thank  you — I 
don't  care  for  it.     I  have  quit  borrowing." 

"I  hope  you  don't  feel  ofifended." 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  grateful  to  you  for  not  lending 
it  to  me." 

Late  in  the  evening  he  went  back  to  the  office. 
No  one  was  there,  but  soon  the  negro  janitor  came 
in  and  pointed  to  a  damp  spot  on  the  floor.  "I  have 
washed  up  the  blood  where  the  man  fainted  and 
fell,"  he  said.  "The  doctor  brought  him  to  all 
right,  and  there's  a  note  on  the  table  he  left  for 
you." 

Bodney  opened  the  note  and  read:  "I  leave 
for  Michigan,  and  will  be  back  within  a  few  days. 
I  don't  blame  you  as  much  as  I  do  myself.  I  per- 
mitted you  to  break  away  from  me,  but  you  will 
come  back  and  at  last  be  thankful.    Goyle." 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN.  221 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN. 


Bodney's  ''breaking  away"  from  Goyle  had  taken 
place  on  the  day  following  the  night  when  Brad- 
ley had  been  robbed  of  his  watch,  and  two  days  be- 
fore the  girl  appeared  in  church  to  ask  for  prayers. 
On  the  Monday  following,  about  noon,  she  ap- 
peared again,  this  time  at  Bradley's  lodgings.  The 
housekeeper  answered  her  ring  at  the  bell.  "Ah," 
she  said,  "come  in.  You  are  Mr.  Bradley's  sister, 
I  believe.  I  didn't  see  you  but  a  moment,  but  I 
think  I  recognize  you." 

"Is  Mr.  Bradley  here?"  the  girl  asked. 

"No,  your  brother  has  gone  out.  I  think  you 
can  find  him  over  at  Judge  Elbridge's.  I  don't 
know  exactly  where  it  is,  but  some  place  on  Indiana 
Avenue.  Anyone  can  tell  you.  I  hope  you  haven't 
any  more  bad  news  for  him." 

The  girl  was  shrewd  and  did  not  betray  herself. 
"No,"  she  said,  and  went  away.  Bradley  was  in  the 
Judge's  drawing  room  with  Agnes  when  a  servant 


222  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

came  in  to  tell  him  that  a  young  woman  at  the  door 
wished  to  see  him. 

"Oh,  a  young  woman,"  cried  Agnes,  pretending 
to  pout.  "Some  girl  you  have  been  talking  sweet 
to,  I  warrant."  He  had  risen  to  go  out,  but  he 
halted  to  lean  over  and  say  to  her,  "1  have  never 
talked  sweet,  as  you  term  it,  to  anyone — except — " 

"This  one,"  Agnes  broke  in.  "Oh,  go  on.  Don't 
let  me  detain  you." 

"Probably  someone  connected  with  the  church — " 

"Of  course,  they  always  are.    Go  on,  please." 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  her  when  I  come  back." 

"Oh,  don't  mind  me.  Here's  Florence.  She 
knows  I  don't  care.    Do  please  go  on." 

Bradley  went  out,  and  not  with  a  light  heart,  for 
his  love  had  now  entered  into  the  stew  and  fretful 
state.  The  girl  stood  in,  the  hall,  and  in  the  dim 
light  he  did  not  recognize  her  till  she  spoke.  She 
handed  him  a  small  package. 

"What  is  this?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  yours." 

"My  what?" 

"Your  watch." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  could  speak.  All 
ideas  were  as  dust  blown  about  his  mind.  "You 
don't  mean  to  say  that— you  couldn't  have  taken  it 
—you—" 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN.  223 

"Let  me  go  where  I  can  talk  to  you — outside." 

He  went  out  with  her  and  together  they  walked 
along  the  street.  Looking  back,  he  saw  Agnes  at 
the  window,  and  he  waved  his  hand  at  her.  She 
made  a  face  at  him,  he  thought.  ''Now,  what  is  it 
you  have  to  say?" 

"You  know  a  man  named  Goyle?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  have  met  him  at  the  Judge's  house." 

He  waited  for  her  to  proceed.  "I  was  with  him 
and  two  others  the  night  you  found  me.  They  left 
me  on  the  sidewalk  because  I  could  not  go  fur- 
ther, I  harvx  been  told.  Goyle  went  away  alone 
and  snatched  your  watch." 

"But,  my  gracious,  how  do  you  know?  Did  he 
tell  you?" 

"For  some  time  he  has  been  coming  to  see  me. 
He  was  the  first  man  I  ever  went  with  to — a  place 
where  I  should  not  have  gone.  I  blush  to  own  it, 
but  I  was  fascinated  by  him.  He  asked  me  to 
marry  him,  and  I  consented.  The  last  time  he  came 
after  that  night  was  yesterday  evening.  But  you 
had  taught  me  to  despise  him.  I  could  not  drive 
him  away,  however,  so  I  sat  in  the  room  with  him. 
His  mouth  had  been  hurt — two  of  his  teeth  were 
gone.  He  said  he  had  fahen  ofif  a  car.  He  said 
also  that  as  soon  as  he  got  a  little  better  he  was 


224  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

going  to  Michigan.  He  took  out  his  watch,  one 
that  I  had  never  seen  him  have  before,  and  I  no- 
ticed that  it  had  a  broken  chain.  Then  I  remem- 
bered seeing  a  broken  chain  hanging  from  your 
pocket;  and  the  next  morning  before  I  left  your 
house  I  thought  I  heard  you  tell  someone  that  your 
watch  had  been  snatched  from  you.  I  asked  him  to 
let  me  see  the  watch,  and  in  it  I  found  your  name. 
I  did  not  return  it  to  him — I  jumped  up  and  ran 
out.  He  called  after  me,  and  tried  to  catch  me, 
but  I  slammed  a  door  in  his  face  and  locked  it. 
Then,  my  mother,  who  never  did  like  him,  ordered 
him  out  of  the  house." 

''What  is  your  name?" 

"Margaret  Frayer." 

"Then,  Margaret  Frayer,  I  am  sorry  you  brought 
me  the  watch." 

"Sorry?" 

"I  did  not  wish  a  reward  for  what  I  had  done  for 
you." 

"Oh,  that — the  watch  is  not  your  reward.  You 
have  saved  a  soul.  In  my  heart  I  believe  that  I 
have  found  peace.  I  went  to  sleep  with  a  prayer 
on  my  lips,  and  I  awoke  with  such  a  joy  in  my 
heart  that  I  was  frightened.  I  called  mother  and 
she  came  running  into  the  room,  and  there  must 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN.  225 

have  been  a  spirit  there,  for  before  I  said  a  word, 
and  before  mother  had  seen  me,  for  it  was  dark, 
she  cried  out  that  I  was  saved.  She  had  always 
been  worried  over  me ;  she  feared  that  my  soul  was 
lost.  And  she  put  her  arms  about  me  and  sobbed 
in  her  happiness.  That  is  your  reward,  Mr.  Brad- 
ley." 

''Come  back  to  the  house  with  me,"  he  said. 

He  led  her  into  the  drawing  room  and  intro- 
duced her  to  Florence  and  Agnes.  ''I  wish  to 
present  a  young  woman  whom  God  has  smiled 
upon,"  he  said,  and  they  looked  at  him  in  aston- 
ishment. He  told  them  that  he  had  found  her 
wandering  and  had  led  her  home.  Florence  took 
her  hand. 

"I  may  not  be  worthy,  yet,"  said  ]\Iargaret 
Frayer,  ''You  don't  know  me  well  enough  to  take 
my  hand." 

"I  know  that  you  must  have  suffered,  and  that 
is  enough,"  Florence  replied.  The  preacher  looked 
at  Agnes.  He  wondered  why  she  did  not  come 
oftener  to  his  church.  He  wondered  what  she 
would  say  to  the  young  woman. 

"You  are  my  sister,"  said  Agnes,  as  if  inspired, 
and  Bradley  clasped  his  hands  and  pressed  them 
to  his  bosom.    His  heart  was  full. 

15 


226  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Margaret  Frayer  did  not  remain  long.  "You 
may  meet  me  again,"  she  said. 

"She  is  to  become  a  member  of  my  church," 
Bradley  spoke  up. 

"My  heart  and  my  prayers  will  be  with  your 
church,  Mr.  Bradley,"  she  said ;  "I  shall  remember 
you  and  be  grateful  to  you  as  long  as  I  live,  but 
my  soul  tells  me  to  go  with  the  Salvation  Army, 
among  girls,  and  persuade  them  to  work  in  the 
street  when  they  have  the  time.  It  is  not  goodness 
alone  that  saves  us,  Mr.  Bradley ;  goodness  may  be 
selfish — it  is  saving  others  that  saves  us.  You 
know  how  that  is.    You  have  saved  others." 

"You  are  right,"  he  said.  "Go  with  the  army; 
you  can  do  more  there." 

"And,  do  you  say  so?"  Florence  cried.  "I 
thought  you  too  orthodox  for  that." 

"Not  too  orthodox  for  the  truth,"  he  replied, 
bowing. 

"Then,"  said  Florence,  "I  think  more  of  you 
than  I  did.  I  thought  it  was  your  ambition  to  build 
up  a  church,  but  I  find  that  you  have  forgotten  your 
creed  to  save  a  woman.  I  am  coming  oftener  to 
hear  you  preach." 

During  this  time  Margaret  Frayer  stood  near  the 
door,  waiting,  it  seemed,  for  an  opportunity  to  go. 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN.  227 

The  preacher  looked  at  her,  and  mused  upon  the 
change  that  had  come  over  her  face  since  he  had 
first  seen  her,  only  a  short  time,  but  a  great  change. 
The  Salvation  Army  has  a  countenance  and  a  com- 
plexion peculiarly  its  own,  serene  and  pale;  and 
so  quick,  it  seems,  is  the  transformation  that  the 
coarse-featured,  evil-eyed  woman  of  today  may,  to- 
morrow, have  a  striking  refinement.  '1  hope  you 
will  come  frequently  to  my  church,"  said  Bradley, 
taking  her  hand. 

''Whenever  I  am  selfish,"  she  replied. 

"You  young  ladies  have  done  yourselves  credit," 
said  Bradley,  when  Margaret  Frayer  had  taken  her 

leave. 

"Why  so  ?"  said  Agnes.  "Because  we  treated  her 
kindly?     Did  you  take  us  for  heathens?" 

"Oh,  no,  but  women— women  are  so  slow  to  for- 
give." 

"Forgive?  Why,  what  has  she  done?  She  sim- 
ply wanted  religion,  and  you  have  helped  her.  Oh, 
she  might  have  done  wrong,  I  don't  know.  But 
women  are  more  forgiving  now  that  they  have 
taken  more  of  man's  privileges.  They  may  be- 
come quite  generous  after  a  while."  With  Agnes  it 
was  innocence;  with  Florence  it  was  knowledge. 
She  divined  the  history  of  the  girl ;   and  in  giving 


228  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

her  hand  felt  that  it  was  to  one  who  had  gone 
astray,  who  had  suffered,  and  who  had  turned  back. 
The  Judge  came  in,  to  the  disappointment  of  the 
preacher,  who  feared  that,  soon  to  be  followed  by 
William,  the  old  jurist  would  begin  anew  to  stir  up 
the  old  straw  of  family  humor.  But  William  did 
not  come,  and  the  Judge  was  in  no  mood  for  jok- 
ing. He  had  been  brooding,  and  his  brow  was 
dark.  "Florence,"  he  said,  after  exchanging  a  few 
words  with  Bradley,  *T  wish  you  would  walk  out 
with  me."  She  said  nothing,  but  went  out  and  came 
back  with  her  hat.  They  walked  in  the  shade  of  the 
elms,  and  he  remarked  upon  different  objects,  but 
she  said  nothing. 

*'Why  don't  you  talk,  Florence?" 
"Because  I  haven't  anything  to  say." 
"You  mean  that  you  have  nothing  to  say  to  me." 
"I  mean  that  it  is  useless  to  say  anything  to  you. 
Shall  I  say  something?     I  will.     You  are  an  un- 
natural father." 

"No,  I  have  an  unnatural  son." 
"That  is  not  true.  Judge.  Anyone  to  see  him,  to 
hear  him  talk,  to  know  him,  would  feel  that  he 
could  not  commit  such  a  crime.  Why,  sometimes 
when  I  am  alone  it  almost  exasperates  me  to  think 
about  it;   and  to  realize  that  I  am  in  a  conspiracy 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN.  229 

against  him.  It  is  cruel,  and  at  times  I  fancy  that 
I  am  almost  as  unnatural  as  you  are." 

''To  be  bound  by  an  oath  ?  Is  that  unnatural  ? 
Is  it  unnatural  to  have  honor?  I  told  you  in  the 
first  place  to  protect  you ;  I  bound  you  by  oath  to 
protect  her,  his  mother.    That  is  simple  enough." 

''But  you  don't  know  how  near  I  have  come  to 
the  violation  of  that  oath.  More  than  once  I  have 
had  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  him — but  I  couldn't,"  she 
broke  off.  "I  couldn't.  But  he  is  going  away,  and 
I  will  write  it  to  him,  every  detail  of  it ;  and  I  know 
that  he  will  forgive  me." 

"You  make  me  the  criminal  when  I  am  the  in- 
jured.   Let  us  go  back." 


230  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  PREACHER  CONFESSES. 

Bradley  had  argued  with  himself  that  at  the 
proper  time  it  would  be  simple  enough  to  tell  the 
girl  that  he  loved  her,  and  no  doubt  he  was  right, 
but  the  time  did  not  come.  He  sat  beside  her  on 
the  sofa,  when  the  Judge  and  Florence  had  quitted 
the  room,  and  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  the 
proper  words  arose  like  a  graceful  flight  of  birds, 
rich  in  bright  feathers,  but  they  scattered  and  flew 
away.  He  could  have  delivered  an  oration  upon 
beauty  and  love,  and  he  did ;  but  he  feared  to  sur- 
prise her  by  telling  her  that  he  loved  her.  He  did 
not  dream  that  she  had  discovered  it  coming  be- 
fore he  felt  it.  It  was  not  possible  for  so  innocent 
a  creature  to  know  so  much.  He  was  a  large  man, 
and  large  men  may  have  sentiment,  but  sometimes 
they  lack  sentimental  nerve. 

**You  don't  believe  now  that  I  talked  what  you 
termed  sweet  to  that  poor  girl,  do  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.     But  I  don't  see  why  she 


THE  PREACHER  CONFESSES.  231 

should  look  at  you  that  way  even  if  you  did— did 
lead  her.  It  must  have  looked  nice,  you  going 
along  leading  her.  What  do  you  suppose  people 
thought?" 

''No  one — one  saw  me  lead  her,"  Bradley  stam- 
mered. 

''Oh,  then  it  was  in  the  dark.  Led  her  in  the 
dark." 

''She  didn't  mean  that  I  really  took  her  by  the 
hand  and  led  her.     I  led  her  spiritually." 

"Is  that  all?  Where  did  you  find  her— spiritu- 
ally?" 

"Going — shall  I  say?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

"Going  to  the  devil." 

"Oh,  and  did  she  say  so,  or  could  you  see  for 
yourself?" 

"I  could  see.  Agnes— Miss  Agnes,  if  I  were 
not  afraid  of  lowering  myself  in  your  esteem,  I 
would  tell  you  something." 

"Don't  tell  me  anything  dreadful,"  she  cried,  stop- 
ping -her  ears.  "I  know  it  must  be  something 
awful." 

He  waited  for  her  to  unstop  her  ears,  which  she 
did  very  soon,  and  then  he  spoke,  but  on  another 
subject.     She   replied   listlessly,   leaning  her  head 


232  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

on  the  back  of  the  sofa.  He  told  her  about  his 
church  and  she  yawned.  He  had  been  deUghted  to 
see  her  in  the  congregation,  and  she  yawned  again. 
*'I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  me  about  that 
woman,"  she  said. 

"But  you  stopped  your  ears." 

"And  don't  you  know  that  when  a  woman  stops 
her  ears  it's  the  time  when  she  wants  to  hear?" 

"I  dida't  know  that." 

"You  didn't?  Then  you  needn't  tell  me  any- 
thing." 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  ought  to  tell  you — only  you." 

"Why  only  me  ?"  she  asked,  her  eyes  half  closed. 

"I  don't  know,  but—" 

"Then,  why  did  you  say  only  me?" 

"Because  I — I  think  more  of  you  than  of  anyone 
else." 

"Oh,  if  you  think  it's  your  duty  you'd  better  tell 

me." 

He  told  her,  and  she  sat  up  straight,  looking  at 
him ;  she  got  up  and  walked  slowly  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room,  he  gazing  at  her.  He  reproached 
himself  for  telling  her.  She  was  young,  lived  apart 
from  the  great  crowd,  and  could  not  understand. 
He  could  not  see  her  face,  for  she  stood  with  her 
back  toward  him,  but  displeasure  has  many  coun- 


THE  PREACHER  CONFESSES.  233 

tenances,  and  he  could  see  that  his  story  had  of- 
fended her.  Her  head  was  shghtly  bowed,  and  she 
was  no  doubt  weeping;  he  heard  her  sob.  Then 
she  had  loved  him,  and  her  love  was  dying.  But 
he  did  not  dare  to  go  to  her,  to  the  death  of  the 
love  he  had  murdered.  Suddenly  she  turned  about. 
Her  face  was  radiant,  and  she  was  laughing.  He 
sitared  at  her  in  amazement. 

"It  is  exactly  what  you  ought  to  have  done,"  she 

said. 

**And  I  am  not  lowered  in  your  estimation?" 
"For  being  a  truer  man  than  any  man  I  have 
ever  known?    Oh,  no." 

Yes,  she  had  turned  round,  laughing,  but  there 
were  tear  stains  on  her  cheeks.  He  did  not  know 
that  she  had  passed  through  a  struggle  of  doubt 
to  reach  laughter.  Surely  she  was  a  strange  crea- 
ture, worthy  of  being  loved  and  capable  of  loving ; 
but  he  did  not  tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  The  words 
were  warm  in  his  heart,  but  feh  cool  upon  his  lips, 
and  he  did  not  utter  them.  He  talked  in  a  round- 
about way,  in  an  emotional  skirmish,  he  afterward 
said  to  himself,  and  then  took  his  leave,  as  the 
Judge  and  Florence  had  returned.  Just  outside  he 
met  Bodney  coming  in.  ''Oh,  by  the  way,  the  very 
man  I  want  to  see,  ;Mr.  Bodney.  I  want  a  talk  with 
you." 


234  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Bodney  thought  that  the  preacher  was  going  to 
thank  him  again  for  the  money  sent  to  the  church, 
to  tell  him  how  much  good  it  had  done.  "I  will 
walk  along  with  you/'  he  said. 

"This  is  a  peculiar  world,"  remarked  the  preacher, 
as  they  strode  along,  side  by  side. 

''You  might  almost  say  a  damnable  world,"  Bod- 
ney replied. 

"No,  not  quite  so  bad  as  that."  They  walked  on 
in  silence,  Bodney  wondering  what  the  preacher 
wanted  to  talk  about,  the  preacher  wondering  how 
he  could  best  get  at  what  he  intended  to  say.  "You 
are  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Goyle,"  said  Bradley. 

"Why  do  you  speak  of  him?  Why  didn't  you 
say  I  am  well  acquainted  with  the  devil?" 

"I  suppose  I  might  as  well.  Do  you  believe  him 
desperate?" 

"In  his  milder  moods,  yes;  at  other  times  he 
goes  beyond  that — he  is  inhuman." 

"Ah.  Do  you  believe  that  he  would  snatch  a 
man's  watch?" 

"He  would  snatch  a  woman's  child.  He  is  a 
beast.  But  you  have  something  to  tell  me.  What 
is  it?" 

"I  will,  but  as  I  do  not  wish  to  bring  someone 
else  into  the  glare  of  scandal,  you  must  keep  it  to 


THE  PREACHER  CONFESSES.  235 

yourself.  The  other  night,  as  1  was  going  home, 
a  man  standing  under  a  lamppost  asked  me  the 
time.  I  took  out  my  watch  and  he  snatched  it 
and  fled  down  an  alley.  I  didn't  notice  his  face,  or 
at  least  I  could  not  see  it  very  well,  and  I  did  not 
recognize  him,  but  I  have  recovered  the  watch  and 
have  been  told  that  it  was  Goyle  who  snatched  it. 
And  you  do  not  suppose  that  there  is  any  question 
as  to  his  being  bold  enough  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"Mr.  Bradley,  that  man  would  do  anything ;  he  is 
a  footpad  or  a  sorcerer,  just  as  the  humor  takes 
him.     Now,  I  will  tell  you  something.     He  made 
himself  my  master,  so  completely  that  at  times  I 
could  not  resist  him.     But  the  other  day  he  made 
me  an  infamous  proposition  and  I  struck  him  m 
the   mouth  and  knocked  him   senseless  upon  the 
floor.    Blood  ran  out  of  his  mouth,  and  it  was  black 
—black,  I  will  swear.     I  left  him  lying  there,  and 
when  I  returned  he  was  gone,  but  he  had  written 
a  note  to  me,  a  note  in  which  there  was  not  a  word 
of  reproach  or  resentment.     He  said  he  was  going 
away  and  would  see  me  upon  his  return.    That  note 
frightened  me,  and  I  have  been  scared  ever  since, 
dreading  to  meet  him,  for  I  feel  that  Re  has  some 
sort  of  reserve  power  to  throw  over  me.     I  would 
go  awa}-,  but  the  thought  that  he  knows  all  my 


236  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

movements  is  constantly  haunting  me.  You  may 
smile  at  this  and  say  that  I  ought  to  be  stronger, 
that  it  is  superstition,  and  that  we  are  not  living 
in  a  superstitious  age,  but  I  tell  you  that  in  his 
presence  I  feel  a  weakness  come  over  me  to  such 
a  degree  that  when  I  am  with  him  I  have  only  one 
strength — a  passion  for  gambling.  I  have  let  him 
ruin  me,  soul  and  body ;  I — " 

"I  will  pray  for  you,"  said  Bradley. 

"You  might  as  well  pray  for  rain,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  foolish  than  that." 

"What,  you  doubt  the  spirit  of  God?" 

"I  believe  in  the  spirit  of  the  devil.  But  this  is 
jugglery.  If  he  had  left  me  a  note  full  of  resent- 
ment, or  had  even  left  no  word  at  all,  I  should  have 
felt  that  I  had  conquered  him ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  know 
that  I  am  his  slave." 

"My  dear  young  man,"  said  the  preacher,  "you 
ascribe  to  him  supernatural  powers ;  you  have  per- 
mitted him  to  take  you  back  into  the  middle  ages. 
Such  a  thing  is  absurd,  in  this  great,  progressive 
city.  See,"  he  added,  pointing  at  an  electric  car 
rushing  by.  "There  goes  the  nineteenth  century, 
and  yonder,"  he  broke  off,  waving  his  hand  at  a  cart 
shoved  by  an  Italian,  "is  the  sixteenth  century. 
You  have  let  the  Italian  put  you  into  his  wretched 
cart.    Get  out— get  on  the  electric  car." 


THE  PREACHER  CONFESSES.  237 

"Your  illustration  is  all  right,  Mr.  Bradley ;  but 
he  has  me  in  his  cart  bound  hand  and  foot.  But 
we  have  both  said  enough,  and  what  we  have  said 
is   not  to   be  repeated   to   others.     I'll  turn  back 

here." 

After  knocking  Goyle  down.  Bodney  had  fully 
determined  to  make  a  confession  to  Howard  and  the 
Judge,  but  upon  finding  the  note  his  will  resolved 
itself  into  fear  and  indecision.     He  felt,  however, 
that  the  gambling  germ  was  dead— ''germ,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.    "Giant !"  he  cried  aloud.    It  must 
be,  though,  that  he  would  gradually  gain  strength, 
and  the  time  for  the  confession  was  surely  not  far 
off.    But  he  would  bring  disgrace  upon  himself  and 
be  driven  out  of  the  house.    He  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  seeing  hatred  in  the  eye  of  the  Judge. 
The  old  man  was  unforgiving;    had  not  forgiven 
his  son,  and  would  surely  send  Bodney  to  the  peni- 
tentiary.    "I  can't  tell  him   yet,"  he  mused.     "I 
must  wait  for  strength.    That  scoundrel  is  thinking 
of  me  at  this  moment,  and  I  know  it."     In  the 
night  he  awoke  with  a  feeling  that  Goyle  was  in  the 
room,  and  he  sprang  out  of  bed  and  lighted  the  gas. 
Thus  it  was  for  three  nights,  and  on  the  third  morn- 
ing came  a  letter  from  Goyle,  not  a  letter,  but  an 
envelope  directed  by  his  hand,  and  in  it  was  a  news- 


238  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

paper  cutting,  set  in  the  large  type  of  the  village 
press.  "Last  night,  at  Col.  Radley's,  the  guests 
were  entertained  in  a  most  novel,  not  to  say  start- 
ling, manner,  by  Prof.  Goyle,  of  Chicago,  who  gave 
several  feats  of  mind-reading.  Miss  Sarah  May- 
hew,  daughter  of  our  leading  merchant,  stuck  a 
pin  in  the  door-facing  as  high  as  she  could  reach, 
while  the  Professor  was  out  of  the  room,  and  then 
hid  the  pin  under  the  carpet.  The  Professor  was 
brought  in  blindfolded,  amid  the  silence  which  the 
Colonel  had  enjoined.  He  took  Miss  Mayhew  by 
the  hand,  fell  into  deep  thought  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  went  straightway  and  took  the  pin  from 
under  the  carpet,  and  then,  marvelous  to  relate,  ran 
across  the  room  and  leaping  ol¥  the  floor  stuck  the 
pin  in  the  exact  hole  which  it  had  occupied  at  the 
hands  of  the  handsome  Miss  Mayhew.  George 
Halbin,  one  of  our  leading  lawyers,  said  that  the 
feat  would  have  seemed  impossible  to  even  a  man 
with  both  eyes  open.  The  Professor  will  appear  at 
the  opera  house  tomorrow  night,  and  our  citizens 
who  appreciate  a  good  thing  when  they  see  it 
should  turn  out." 

"What   have   you   got  there?"   William   asked, 
standing  in  Bodney's  door. 


THE  PREACHER  CONFESSES.  239 

"Just  a  clipping  from  a  newspaper  telling  of 
Goyle's  wonderful  mind-reading." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

William  read  the  paragraph  and  handed  it  back. 

"I  don't  beheve  a  word  of  it,"  he  said.     "Those 

fellows  will  write  anything  if  they  are  paid  for  it. 
It's  all  a  lie." 

"It's  all  true,"  said  Bodney. 

"What,  have  you  turned  spiritualist  ?  Is  the  whole 
family  going  to  pieces?  Howard  has  ruined  him- 
self with  French  books  and  John  is  so  snappish  that 
no  one  can  speak  to  him.  Is  that  the  sort  of  home 
I've  found  ?  Give  me  that  cigar  sticking  out  of  your 
pocket.  You  don't  need  it.  Thank  you.  A  man 
who  believes  the  stuff  you  do  don't  know  whether 
he's  smoking  or  not.  Is  that  John,  roaring  at 
Howard  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  that  there's  something 
wrong  here.  What  do  you  keep  holding  that  thing 
for?  Why,  you  shake  like  a  sifter  at  a  sawmill. 
You  are  all  going  crazy." 


240  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

UP  THE  STAIRS  AND  DOWN  AGAIN. 

When  Bodney  went  into  the  hall  he  found  the 
Judge  walking  up  and  down,  waiting  for  break- 
fast. His  brow  was  troubled  and  dark,  for  How- 
ard had  just  announced  his  determination  to  leave 
on  the  following  day.  He  had  acknowledged  to 
himself  that  there  was  nothing  left  to  hope  for, 
and  yet  he  had  continued  to  hope  that  it  all  mighf 
be,  as  Florence  believed,  a  vision,  a  nightmare,  to 
be  relieved  by  a  sudden  start.  He  knew  that  it 
was  unreasonable  thus  to  hope,  but  hope  was  born 
before  reason,  and  will  exist  after  reason  has  died 
of  old  age.  As  Bodney  approached  the  old  man 
stood  with  his  hand  pressed  against  his  forehead. 
Bodney's  heart  smote  him,  but  his  fear  was  stronger 
than  his  remorse.  The  piece  of  paper,  still  in  his 
hand,  seemed  to  burn  his  palm,  as  poker  money  had 
burned  in  his  pocket;  and  he  felt  that  he  was  but 
a  pin  hidden  under  a  carpet  and  that  Goyle  could 
find  him  and  thrust  him  back  into  obedience.    The 


UP  THE  STAIRS  AND  DOWN  AGAIN.       241 

Judge  noticed  the  grip  with  which  he  held  the  sHp 
of  paper.  "What  have  you  there,  George?"  he 
asked. 

'*'A — a — thing  cut  out  of  a  newspaper."  He 
opened  his  hand  and  the  Judge  looked  at  the  slip 
of  paper. 

''But  why  did  you  grip  it  that  way?"  He  took 
the  cutting,  smoothed  it  out,  and,  putting  on  his 
glasses,  read  it.  "Ah,"  he  said,  handing  it  back, 
"that  fellow.  I  have  seen  him  in  my  sleep — last 
night.    Tell  him^  not  to  come  here  again." 

"It  has  been  some  time  since  he  was  here." 

"Don't  apologize  for  him.  Tell  him  that  he  must 
not  enter  this  house  again." 

William  came  out  and  saw  the  Judge  hand  the 
cutting  to  Bodney.  "Is  it  possible,  John,  that  you 
believe  in  that  nonsense,  too?" 

"I  don't  believe  in  anything,"  said  the  Judge. 

"That's  putting  it  rather  strong,"  replied  William. 
"That  is  to  say,  that  when  I  tell  you  I  elected  Gov- 
ernors and  Senators,  you  don't  believe  it."  Bodney 
passed  on,  leaving  the  brothers  walking  up  and 
down  the  hall,  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

"Did  I  say  that  I  didn't  beheve  you?  What  dif- 
ference does  it  make  anyway?" 

"What  difference  does  any  man's  record  make? 

16 


242  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

If  a  man  isn't  proud  of  his  record,  what  should  he 
be  proud  of?  You  are  proud  of  your  decisions — 
they  go  to  make  up  your  record.  I  elected  Gov- 
ernors, and — " 

"Why  didn't  you  elect  yourself?" 

"That's  a  nice  way  to  come  back  at  a  man — your 
own  brother.  Haven't  you  heard  me  say  that  there 
is  something  higher  than  a  desire  for  office  ?  Hah, 
haven't  you  heard  me  say  that?" 

"Yes,  there  is  something  higher — the  roof  of  the 
board  of  trade." 

"John,  that  is  an  unfair  thrust  at  my  speculations. 
But,  sir,  at  one  time  I  could  have  closed  out  for 
millions.    Do  you  understand,  for  millions." 

"Why  didn't  you?" 

"Now,  just  listen  to  that.  Reproaches  me  for 
not  being  a  money  grabber,  for  not  joining  the 
robbers  to  crush  the  weaklings.  I  have  suffered  a 
good  deal  at  your  hands  lately,  but  I  didn't  expect 
that  stab.  It  wounds  me  here."  He  halted,  and 
placed  his  hand  on  his  breast.  But  he  went  in  to 
breakfast  and  ate  with  the  appetite  of  a  man  who, 
if  wounded,  must  have  marvelously  recovered ;  he 
joked  with  Agnes  about  the  preacher ;  he  told  her 
that  it  would  be  her  duty  to  take  care  of  his  numer- 
ous slippers,  presented  by  women.    "And  when  you 


UP  THE  STAIRS  AND  DOWN  AGAIN.       243 

have  a  pound  party  at  your  house  I  will  contribute 
a—" 

"Senator,"  said  Howard. 

"Oh,  so  you  have  broken  out,  have  you?  I 
thought  you  were  too  deep  in  the  study  of  French 
literature  to  pay  any  attention  to  such  trifles.  And 
you  have  got  on  a  reddish  necktie.  You'll  be  an 
anarchist  the  first  thing  you  know." 

"He  is  going  away,  William,"  said  Mrs.  El- 
bridge,  and  the  Judge  did  not  look  up.  The  sad- 
ness of  her  voice  stirred  William  to  repentance. 
"Going  away?  I  don't  see  how  we  can  get  along 
without  him.  He  and  I  joke,  but  we  understand 
each  other,  don't  we,  Howard?" 

"Perfectly,  Uncle  William ;  and  when  I  open  my 
ranch  out  West,  you  may  look  on  it  as  your  home." 

"Thank  you,  my  boy;  but  I  don't  care  to  go  out 
there  again.  I  was  once  a  power  there,  but  the 
country  is  now  overrun  with  a  lesser  breed,  and  I 
am  airaid  that  I  might  not  get  along  with  them.  I 
want  men,  such  as  there  used  to  be.  Man  will  soon 
be  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  scorcher  is  running 
over  him — and  I  want  to  say  right  here,  that  if 
one  of  those  fellows  ever  runs  over  me,  he'll  get  a 
bullet  just  about  the  size  of  a — a — about  the  size  of 
that."    He  held  up  his  thumb  and  measured  off  the 


244  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

missile  intended  for  the  scorcher.  "You  hear  what 
I  say.  Why,  confound  'em,  if  they  see  a  man,  a 
real  man,  they  bow  their  necks  and  make  at  him, 
but  if  one  of  them  ever  runs  into  me,  the  coroner 
will  have  a  job." 

Howard  and  Bodney  went  down  town  together 
and  opened  the  office,  as  usual,  for  clients  who  did 
not  come,  and  who,  if  they  had  come,  would  have 
shaken  their  heads  and  gone  away. 

''Howard,"  said  Bodney,  "I  told  you  that  I  was 
financially  ruined." 

"Yes,  I  remember,  but  afterward  you  said  that 
everything  was  all  right,  that  your  fit  had  passed. 
Has  it  come  again?" 

"It  didn't  go  away.  A  sort  of  drunkenness  made 
it  appear  so.  The  fact  is,  I  am  in  need  of  ten  dollars, 
to  pay  a  man  I  owe.    He  keeps  harassing  me." 

"I  need  every  cent  I've  got,  old  man,  but  here's 
ten." 

Bodney  took  the  bank  note  and  went  out.  The 
poker  microbe  was  not  so  easily  to  be  exterminated. 
It  had  suggested  to  Bodney  that  the  only  way  to 
replace  the  money  taken  from  the  Judge's  safe  was 
to  play  poker.  And,  why  not  play?  He  might 
win — he  had  won  once,  and  what  the  cards  had 
done  they  would  do  again.    He  remembered  the 


UP  THE  STAIRS  AND  DOWN  AGAIN.       245 

courtesies  that  had  been  shown  him  at  the  club,  the 
congratulation  of  the  man  at  the  desk  when  he 
won  and  the  sympathy  when  he  lost.     "Couldn't 
make  'em  stick,  eh  ?    When  a  man  gets  the  hands 
beaten  you  do,  he's  got  to  lose  his  money.    There's 
nothing  to  it.    But  you'll  get  'em  yet— you  play  as 
good  game  as  any  of  them."    A  man  of  sense  could 
see  that  it  was  a  losing  game  from  the  start,  no 
matter    how   honestly    conducted.      And    Bodney, 
going  to  the  club  before  business  put  on  its  cheer- 
ful countenance,  had  seen  them  counting  the  swal- 
lowings  of  the  ever  hungry  box,  the  rake-off,  the 
unsatisfied  maw.    A  fairly  active  game  would  aver- 
age for  the  house  at  least  eight  dollars  an  hour, 
so  that  in  the  end  every  man  must  be  a  loser.    He 
knew  all  this  as  the  others  knew  it,  but  the  microbe 
squirmed  and  made  him  itch. 

He  walked  toward  the  Wexton  Club,  not  in  a 
rush,  for  he  was  still  fighting.  Speculation  urged 
him  to  play  one  more  time,  and  to  realize  during 
the  game  that  it  was  the  last.  The  hunger  for 
play  was  surely  dying;  then,  why  kill  it?  why  not 
let  it  die  of  its  own  accord  ?  Then  came  the  memory 
of  nights  of  distress,  the  nervous  sweat  of  anxiety 
in  the  street,  scanning  faces,  looking  for  money. 
He  turned  aside,  went  into  a  hotel  and  sat  down. 


246  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

Two  men  were  talking  of  a  defaulter.  "Yes,  sir," 
said  one  of  them,  "everybody  had  confidence  in  him 
— the  firm  trusted  him  implicitly;  but  he  embez- 
zled and  must  go  up  for  it."  He  mentioned  the  em- 
bezzler's name,  and  Bodney  recognized  it  as  that 
of  a  gentlemanly  young  fellow  well  known  at  the 
Wexton.  He  had  come  under  an  assumed  name, 
but  had  thrown  off  this  weak  disguise,  to  indorse  a 
check.  So  the  players,  who  gossip  among  them- 
selves, knew  his  real  name,  but  addressed  him  as 
Jones.  Bodney  continued  to  listen.  "I  under- 
stand," said  one  of  the  men,  "that  the  place  where 
he  went  is  a  regular  robbers'  den."  Bodney  knew 
better  than  this ;  he  knew  that  in  the  fairness,  the 
courtesy,  the  good  nature  of  the  place  lay  its  great- 
est danger.  Men  swore,  it  was  true;  cursed  their 
luck  and  called  upon  a  neighbor  to  testify  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  never  seen  such  hands  beaten ;  but 
for  the  most  part,  the  atmosphere  was  genial,  the 
talk  bright  and  with  a  crispness  rarely  found  in  so- 
ciety. He  resented  this  misrepresentation,  and  was 
even  on  the  point  of  speaking  when  the  men  walked 
off.  Soon  afterward  he  went  out,  though  not  in 
the  direction  of  the  club;  he  circled  round  and 
round,  like  a  deer,  charmed  by  a  snake ;  but  after 
a  time  he  saw  the  stairway,  dusty  and  grim,  rise 


UP  THE  STAIRS  AND  DOWN  AGAIN.       247 

before  him.  In  the  hall  above,  just  as  he  was  about 
to  ring  the  bell,  he  thought  of  his  short  resources, 
only  one  ten  dollar  note,  and  he  took  out  the 
crumpled  paper  and  held  it  in  his  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment and  looked  at  it,  not  to  find  the  ten  dollars, 
but  the  newspaper  cutting.  He  started  as  if  stung, 
stepped  back  and  stood  with  his  hand  resting  on 
the  balustrade.  The  door  opened  and  a  man  came 
out.  Bodney  spoke  to  him,  and  he  halted.  It  was 
the  offensive  fellow  with  the  white  scar. 

"How  did  you  come  out?" 

The  man  opened  both  hands  and  raised  them. 
He  was  not  drunk  now.  He  was  sober  and  des- 
perate. 'They  have  ruined  me,"  he  said;  "ruined 
me,  and  I  don't  know  what  in  the  name  of  God  to 
do.  I'll  never  play  again  as  long  as  I  live — I'd  swear 
it  on  all  the  bibles  in  the  world.  Are  you  going  to 
play?" 

"I  was  thinking  about  it." 

"I  could  have  quit  big  winner.  Say,  have  you 
got  enough  to  stake  me?"  His  eyes  brightened, 
but  the  light  went  out  when  Bodney  shook  his  head. 
"I've  got  just  ten  dollars." 

"Then  you  won't  last  as  long  as  a  feather  in  hell." 
He  went  down  the  stairs,  and  Bodney  continued  to 
stand  there,  fighting  against  himself,  with  the  news- 


248  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

paper  cutting  still  in  his  hand.  Suddenly,  with  his 
teeth  set  and  both  hands  clenched,  he  ran  down  the 
stairs.  At  the  door  opening  out  upon  the  street 
he  met  the  master  of  the  game.  "Won't  you  come 
back  and  eat  with  us  ?" 

*'No,  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

The  master  of  the  game  was  astonished.  The 
idea  of  a  poker  player  being  in  a  hurry  to  get  away 
from  the  game  was  almost  new  to  him — and  it  was 
new  to  Bodney.  But  he  hastened  on,  not  daring  to 
look  back  lest  he  might  find  some  new  temptation 
beckoning  him  to  return.  Passing  beyond  the  cir- 
cle wherein  the  lodestone  seemed  to  draw  the  hard- 
est, he  felt,  upon  looking  back,  that  he  had  escaped 
and  was  beyond  pursuit.  It  was  now  eleven  o'clock, 
and  the  victory  must  have  been  won  at  about  ten 
minutes  to  eleven.  He  had  cause  to  remember  this 
afterward,  on  the  following  day,  when  he  believed 
that  the  cause  of  this  sudden  strength  had  been 
revealed  to  him. 

Howard  was  in  the  office  when  Bodney  returned. 
"Well,  did  you  pay  your  persistent  cr-editor?" 

"There  was  none.  Here  is  your  money ;  I  don't 
need  it  now." 

"But  you  will,  so  you'd  better  keep  it." 

"That's  a  fact,  and  I  don't  know  how  soon." 


UP  THE  STAIRS  AND  DOWN  AGAIN.       249 

*'But  you  say  there  was  none." 

"None.    I'll  explain  sometime,  but  I  can't  now." 

Howard  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further,  for 
his  mind  was  on  his  own  affairs.  He  had  settled 
upon  taking  his  departure  the  next  morning,  and 
now  he  looked  about  the  old  room  with  a  feeling 
of  sadness.  He  had  consulted  another  physician 
who  knew  his  father  well,  and  had  been  informed 
that  the  old  man  might  improve  rapidly  in  the  ab- 
sence of  his  son.  This  made  the  young  man  wince, 
but  he  had  told  the  doctor  that  his  father  seemed 
to  have  an  especial  antipathy  to  him,  "It  is  one 
of  the  freaks  peculiar  to  diseased  minds  to  turn  upon 
one  who  has  been  nearest,"  said  the  physician. 
Howard  had  repeated  this  to  his  mother,  and  fre- 
quently she  remarked  it  as  a  discovery  of  her  own. 

That  evening  when  the  young  men  went  home 
there  was  a  great  hub-hub  in  the  hall.  William  had 
just  come  in,  covered  with  dust  and  was  blowing 
Uke  a  hippopotamus.  "If  I  live,  I'll  kill  him  ;  mind 
what  I  tell  you." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  Howard  asked.  William 
had  been  knocked  down  by  a  scorcher. 


250  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE. 


At  the  breakfast  table  the  next  morning  the 
Judge  paid  no  attention  to  Howard,  though  he 
knew  that  his  departure  was  to  take  place  that  day. 
He  had  striven  to  be  genial  when  Mrs.  Elbridge 
was  present,  and  for  a  time  had  succeeded,  but  all 
effort  was  thrown  off  now. 

Howard  went  to  his  room  to  make  ready,  and  his 
mother  went  with  him.  The  Judge  was  walking 
up  and  down  in  hfs  office  as  they  passed  his  door. 
Florence  entered,  and  the  Judge  bowed  to  her. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  Howard  good-bye?"  she 
asked. 

"That's  easy  enough,"  he  answered. 

"He  will  come  in  here  to  see  you  before  he  goes." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  know  because  it  is  not  possible  for  him  to 
prov.e  so  unnatural  as — " 

The  Judge  raised  his  hand.  "Don't  say  it, 
please." 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  251 

She  stood  looking  at  him.  "Don't  you  think  you 
ought  to  tell  him  why  you  have  hardened  your 
heart  against  him?" 

"I  shall  tell  him  nothing." 

"And  is  that  the  part  of  a  true  man?  Is  it  not 
almost  inhuman  to  let  him  suffer  in  ignorance?" 

The  Judge  raised  his  hand  and  looked  toward  the 
door.  "I  tell  you,  it  is  to  protect  her.  Can't  you 
see?" 

"It  is  well  enough  to  protect  her,  but  you  ought 
to  give  him  an  opportunity  to  defend  himself." 

"There  is  no  defense.    Mind,  your  oath." 

"Oh,  I  am  sick  of  that,"  she  said.  "Every  time 
I  say  a  word  in  his  behah  you  remind  me  of  a  foohsh 
vow.  Judge,  I  am  weary  of  this  senseless  and  in- 
sane drama,  seeing  the  others  stumble  about  in  the 
dark  while  you  and  I  stand  in  the  light.  No,  you 
do  not  stand  in  the  light.  I  alone  am  in  the  light 
of  truth ;  and  if  I  did  not  think  that  the  trip  out 
West  would  be  good  for  him,  I  would  not  let  him 
go;  I  would  stop  him  short  with  what  you  have 
told  me  and  made  me  swear  by  the  memory  of  my 
mother  not  to  repeat.  No  wonder  you  put  your 
hand  to  your  head.  It  must  ache.  But,  there,  I 
won't  reproach  you." 

He  had  sat  down.    She  went  to  him  and  put  her 


252  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  looked  up,  and  then 
looked  down  again.  "I  believe  something  is  going 
to  clear  it  all  up  one  of  these  days,"  she  said.  He 
got  up  and  resumed  his  walk.  Howard's  voice 
came  down  the  hall:    ''Has  the  trunk  gone  yet?" 

"I  think  he  is  coming,"  she  said. 

"Stay  with  me,  Florence." 

"No,  you  must  face  him,  the  injured,  alone." 

"I  have  not  injured  him ;  he  has  injured  me." 

She  went  out  and  the  Judge  stood  there  waiting 
for  Howard.  He  came  in,  more  serious  now  that 
everything  had  been  made  ready.  "I  am  about  to 
start  for  the  West,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  can't  stand  it 
here  any  longer.  You  frown  at  me,  and  when  I 
beg  you  to  tell  me — " 

"How  long  do  you  expect  to  be  gone  ?"  the  Judge 
interrupted. 

"Till  the  day  when  I  am  to  marry  almost  in  se- 
cret, or  when  you  send  for  me." 

The  Judge  was  walking  up  and  down.  He 
turned  and  replied.    "I  shall  not  send  for  you." 

"Do  you  still  deny  us  the  right  to  be  married 
in  a  church?" 

"You  shall  never  marry  her  at  all  with  my  sanc- 
tion, and  if  you  marry  her  without  it,  you  marry 
out  West  or  in  there,"  he  added,  waving  toward  the 
drawing  room.     "There  must  be  no  guests." 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  253 

''I  should  like  to  marry  in  my  father's  house,  but 
on  the  prairie  or  in  the  woods  will  do  as  well ;  it 
makes  no  difference."  He  looked  hard  at  his  father, 
and,  after  a  time,  added :  "I  didn't  think  that  a  man 
could  change  so  much — be  so  unnatural." 

"None  of  that,  sir !"  the  Judge  exclaimed,  turning 
upon  him.    ''It  is  not  for  you  to  call  me  unnatural." 

"Father,  if  I  have  committed  a  crime  in  your  eye, 
why  don't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ?" 

"In  my  eye!  You  must  have  studied  long  to 
frame  that  speech." 

"But  why  don't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"Don't  mock  me,  sir." 

Howard  looked  at  him,  as  if  trying  to  study 
out  something  in  his  countenance,  in  his  eye.  "May 
I  ask  you  something?" 

"Why  should  you  desire  my  permission  since 
you  would  pay  no  attention  to  my  refusal?  What 
is  it  that  you  wish  to  ask  ?" 

"May  I  ask  if  there  has  ever  been  any  insanity 
in  our  family?" 

The  Judge  started.  "In  our  family — in  my  fam- 
ily there  has  been  something  worse  than  insanity." 

Howard  slowly  nodded  his  head  as  if  admitting  a 
sad  fact.  "Yes,  there  has  been  the  death  of  affec- 
tion— in  your  family." 


254  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

**Ah,"  cried  the  Judge,  ''the  shrouding  of  a  hope." 

"The  murder  of  a  jovial  spirit,"  said  Howard. 

"Don't  shoot  your  poisonous  arrows  at  me.  Go 
on,  away.  Good-bye."  He  waved  his  hand.  How- 
ard turned  toward  the  door,  but  halted,  faced  about 
and  looked  at  the  Judge  with  troubled  tenderness. 
"Father,  I  don't  know  exactly  where  I  am  going, 
but  out  in  the  wilds  somewhere  to  find  a  place  for 
me  and  mine.  I  did  not  believe — couldn't  have 
foreseen  such  a  moment  as  this.  It  seems  to  me 
that  my  father  is  gone."  He  paused,  and  the  Judge 
stood  with  his  face  turned  away.  "Shall  I  write  to 
you?" 

"No,"  said  the  Judge,  without  looking  round. 

Mrs.  Elbridge  came  in  and  found  them  standing 
apart,  the  Judge  still  with  his  back  toward  Howard. 
"Howard,"  she  said,  "the  cab  is  waiting.  Judge, 
Howard  is  going  away  from  us." 

The  old  man  turned  slightly,  looked  at  her, 
nodded  his  head,  said  "yes,"  and  walked  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Elbridge  touched 
her  forehead.  "You  must  bear  with  him,"  she 
whispered.    "You  can  see  where  the  trouble  lies." 

"Yes,  and  it  is  a  sorrowful  thought.  I  can  hardly 
believe  it.  And  to  think  that  he  should  select  me 
as  the  object  of  his  contempt." 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  255 

"He  will  get  over  it  soon  and  send  for  you,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "A  disordered  mind  turns 
against  the  loved  one — nearly  always."  Then,  ad- 
vancing toward  the  old  man,  she  said :  "Jndgt,  tell 
him  good-bye." 

"I  have,"  replied  the  old  man,  standing  with  his 
face  turned  from  her.  She  went  to  him  and,  touch- 
ing his  arm,  said:  "But  not  in  your  old  way — not 
as  you  would  have  told  him  good-bye  before — be- 
fore you  were  ill." 

"I  am  not  ill,"  he  said,  without  turning  his  eyes 
toward  her.    "I  never  was  better  in  my  life." 

"But,  tell  him  good-bye,  please." 

"I  tell  you  I  have!"  he  exclaimed,  stamping  upon 
the  floor;  and  turning  with  his  hand  uplifted,  he 
cried :  "Can't  you  see — no,  you  cannot,"  he  broke 
off,  his  hand  shaking,  and  slowly  falling  to  his  side. 
"No,  you  cannot  see,  must  not  see.  I  beg  your 
pardon  for  speaking  so  impatiently,  but  I  am  wor- 
ried, Rachel ;  worried,  and — " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  taking  the  arm  which  he 
had  raised  from  under  her  gentle  touch.  "But,  you 
must  tell  him  good-bye." 

The  Judge  struggled  against  her,  though  not 
with    violence;    the    struggle,    indeed,    was    more 


256  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

against  himself.  She  led  him  toward  Howard,  who 
stood  looking  on,  sorrowfully. 

'Tut  your  arm  about  him,"  she  said  to  the  Judge. 
"For  me,  please." 

"For  you,"  he  said,  and  suffered  her  to  put  his 
arm  on  Howard's  shoulder.  She  raised  his  other 
arm,  and  now  he  stood  with  both  arms  about  the 
boy's  neck. 

"Good-bye,  father,"  said  Howard. 

For  a  moment  the  old  man's  countenance  was 
aglow  with  the  light  of  love  and  sympathy ;  con- 
vulsively he  pressed  Howard  to  his  bosom — but  a 
horror  seemed  to  seize  him,  the  light  of  sympathy 
went  out  as  if  blown  by  a  cold  wind,  and,  stepping 
back,  he  said : 

"There.  Go.  Not  another  word.  Why  do  you 
continue  to  stand  there  gazing  at  me?  Rachel, 
can't  you  take  him  away?  I  have  told  him  good- 
bye to  please  you — now,  why  don't  you  oblige  me 
by  taking  him  away?" 

"But,  dear,  have  you  no  word  for  him?" 

"Word,  yes.    Good-bye." 

"No  word  of  advice?" 

"Advice!  Don't  mock  me.  Go  away,  please. 
Can't  you  see — no,  you  cannot,  and  why  should  I 
expect  it?    Now  go." 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  257 

"We  are  going,"  she  said. 

''Yes,  but — I  beg  your  pardon — but  why  don't 
you?" 

She  took  Howard's  arm  and  walked  out,  looking 
back  as  if  she  hoped  that  the  Judge  might  repent 
and  follow,  but  he  did  not ;  he  resumed  his  walk 
up  and  down  the  room.  Suddenly  he  turned. 
"Now,  what  are  you  doing,  William  ?"  The  brother 
had  entered  and  was  turning  over  papers  on  the 
desk. 

"I  am  looking  for  a  slip  of  paper  I  dropped  out 
of  my  pocket-book." 

"You  didn't  leave  anything  here." 

"That  may  be,"  said  WilHam,  "but  I  don't  know 
whether  I  did  or  not  till  I  find  out.  A  man  never 
knows — " 

"Some  men  never  know,"  the  Judge  broke  in, 
going  over  to  the  desk  and  taking  a  paper  out  of 
William's  hand.  "Go  away,  please."  William 
stepped  back,  shocking  himself  from  the  storage 
battery  of  his  dignity.  "Oh,  I  can  go,  if  that's  what 
you  want." 

"That's  what  I  want." 

"It  is  ?  All  right.  John,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know 
what's  the  matter  with  you."  The  Judge  was  pay- 
ing no  attention.  He  was  listening  to  a  cab  driving 
17 


258  JUDGE  ELBRIBGE. 

off  from  the  door.  "I  say,  sir,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
know  what's  the  matter  with  you." 

"I  heard  what  you  said." 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  did  or  not.  There's 
no  living  in  the  house  with  you.  And  last  night, 
after  I  had  been  knocked  down  in  the  street — and 
I'm  going  to  kill  him  if  detectives  can  find  him — last 
night  when  I  merely  intimated  that  something  had 
taken  place  on  the  fourteenth  of  September,  you — " 

"William,  are  you  going  to  begin  all  that  over 
again  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  again.  John, 
you  talk  in  riddles.  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  get 
at  your  meaning.  Yes,  sir,  and  last  night  you  flew 
off  like  a  jug  handle  when  I  told  you  that  Carl 
Miller—" 

"Oh,  damn  Carl  Miller." 

"That's  all  right.  I  don't  care  how  much  you 
damn  him.  He  deserves  it — broke  a  pair  of  boots 
for  me  and  made  'em  so  kidney  footed  that  I 
couldn't  walk  in  'em.  But  I  am  positive  about  that 
other  date,  John.    It  was  the  tenth." 

The  Judge  looked  at  him,  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  said:    "William,  you  are  an  old  fool." 

"An  old  fool,  John— old  ?    Did  you  say  old  ?" 

"That  is  what  I  said.    Old." 


TOLD   HIM   GOOD-BYE.  259 

William  sighed.  "Then,  that  settles  it.  It  isn't 
so  bad  to  be  simply  a  fool — for  we  may  grow  out 
of  that  as  time  goes  on — but  to  be  an  old  fool — 
John,  I'll  leave  your  house.  I  can't  stand  your 
abuse  any  longer.  I  am  without  means,  broke,  you 
might  say,  and  I  don't  know  which  way  to  turn,  ex- 
cept to  turn  my  back  on  your  ill-treatment  of  me. 
I  may  starve  to  death  or  be  killed  in  the  street  or 
on  some  freight  car,  stealing  a  ride  from  misery  to 
misery,  but  I  am  going." 

"William,  sit  down  and  behave  yourself." 

"Never  again  will  I  sit  down  in  your  house.     I 

have  joked  with  you,  I  know,  and  have  said  a  great 

many  things  that  I  didn't  mean,  but  I  am  in  deadly 

earnest  this  time.    I  am  going  away." 

The  Judge  put  his  hand  on  William's  shoulder. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  said.    "Don't  leave  me.     I  need 

you.    I  am  mean,  and  I  know  it,  but  I  beg  of  you 

not  to  leave  me." 

"Mean!"  William  cried.     "Who  the  deuce  said 

you  were  mean?     Show  the  villain  to  me.     Show 

him  to  me,  I  tell  you." 

"There,  nov/,  sit  down ;   it  is  all  right." 

"No,  sir,  it  is  not  all  right,  and  it  never  will  be 

till  I  find  the  scoundrel  that  called  you  mean.    Was 


260  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

it  Bradley?  Tell  me,  and  I'll  choke  him  till  his 
eyes  pop  out.    Was  it  Bradley?" 

The  Judge  smiled.  ''Bradley,"  said  he,  ''is  one  of 
my  props.  He  is  the  son  of  my  old  friend,  and  I 
think  the  world  of  him." 

"Well,  let  him  congratulate  himself  on  his  escape, 
for  before  the  Lord  I  would  choke  him.  It  is  all 
right,  yes,  sir — but,  really,  John,  if  I  tell  you  earn- 
estly it  was  on  the  tenth  won't  you  believe — " 

"Yes,  yes ;  let  it  be  the  tenth." 

"Let  it  be!  Why,  confound  it,  I  tell  you  it  was 
the  tenth." 

"All  right.  When  you  go  out  I  wish  you  would 
tell  Florence  to  come  here." 

WilHam  grunted.  "Oh,  I  can  go  out.  By  the 
way,  John,  Howard  asked  me  a  pertinent  question 
this  morning.  And  it  staggered  me  a  little.  He 
wanted  to  know  whether  there  had  ever  been  any 
insanity  in  our  family." 

The  Judge  showed  signs  of  coming  agitation,  but 
he  fought  with  himself  as  it  was  his  custom  to  fight. 
'■What  did  you  tell  him?  ' 

"I  Hed,  I  told  him  no.  John,  do  you  remember 
the  night  when  they  came  from  the  mad-house  and 
told  us  children  that  father  was  dead?" 

"Don't,  William ;  don't.  Please  tell  Florence  to 
come  here." 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  261 

William  went  out  and  the  Judge  resumed  his 
walk  up  and  down  the  pathway  of  trouble.  Yes, 
he  did  remember  the  night  when  they  came  from 
the  mad-house,  two  men  in  a  doctor's  gig;  he  re- 
membered the  lamps  on  each  side  of  the  vehicle, 
eyes  of  a  great  bug,  they  seemed.  But  his  father's 
malady  had  not  come  of  inheritance,  but  of  fever. 
But  other  men  had  fever  and  did  not  go  mad. 
Could  it  be  that  he  himself  had  been  touched  with 
the  disease — touched  in  the  eye  with  a  vision?  No, 
for  there  was  Bodney.  He  had  seen  it.  "My  mind  is 
sound,  even  in  distress,"  he  mused.  "But  wouldn't 
it  have  been  better  if  I  had  talked  to  him  kindly 
about  his  crime?  I  ought  to  have  let  him  know 
that  I  saw  him.  Xo,  his  mother  would  have  drawn 
it  out  of  him — love  sucking  poison  from  a  wound." 

Florence  entered  the  room,  advanced  a  few  paces, 
halted,  and  stood,  looking  at  him.  "Well,  you  sent 
for  me  and  I  am  here." 

"Yes,  sit  down,  please." 

"No,  I  thank  you." 

The  Judge  looked  at  her  sorrowfully.  "Did 
Howard  tell  you  where  he  intends  to  go  ?" 

Florence  looked  at  him  with  a  smile,  but  in  the 
smile  he  saw  bitterness.  "Does  it  concern  you?" 
she  asked. 


262  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

''I  am  not  a  brute,  Florence." 

"No,"  she  said.     "A  brute  is  not  unnatural." 

"Don't,  please.  I  am  trying  not  to  be  unnatural. 
There  can  be*  a  broken  heart  shielding  a  heart  to 
keep  it  from  breaking." 

"You  were  a  judge,  a  man  of  justice.  And  was 
it  just  to  let  him  suffer  in  the  dark?  Was  it  right 
to  lock  your  own  lips  and  put  a  seal  on  mine. 
Judge,  I  ought  to  have  told  him  in  your  presence." 

"Don't  say  that." 

"But  I  do  say  it.  You  presume  upon  what  you 
are  pleased  to  think  is  my  strength  of  character. 
I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  I  was  weak  instead 
of  strong.  Yes,  I  ought  to  have  told  him  in  your 
presence.  I  ought  to  have  said  :  'Your  father,  who 
has  been  a  judge,  has  passed  sentence  upon  you 
without  giving  you  a  hearing.  He  says  you  are  a 
thief.'  " 

"Hush,"  said  the  Judge,  in  a  loud  whisper,  mo- 
tioning toward  the  door.  "Don't  talk  that  way  to 
me.  Ah,  I  have  killed  all  the  love  you  ever  had  for 
me." 

"You  have  choked  it  and  it  is  gasping." 

"I  am  grieved — but  it  cannot  be  undone — the 
fingers  are  stiffened  about  your  gasping  love."  He 
walked  up  and  down  for  a  time,  and  then  turned 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  263 

again  to  her.  "When  you  get  a  letter  from  him  will 
you  let  me  read  it?" 

"No.  His  heart  will  write  to  mine,  and  your  eye 
would  blur  the  words." 

"Don't  say  that.  1  am  not  without  a  heart.  I 
had  a  heart — it  is  broken."  He  walked  off  again, 
but  turned  quickly.  "Florence,  I  sometimes  wonder 
if  my  eye  could  have  deceived  me — could  have  lied 
to  me." 

She  moved  toward  him,  her  hands  uplifted,  hope 
in  her  face.  "A  man's  mind  lies  to  him,  and  why 
not  his  eyes?"  the  Judge  continued.  Florence 
caught  him  by  the  arm  and  looked  appealingly  at 
him.  "But  your  brother,  Florence — your  brother. 
He  saw  him,  too." 

"What !"  she  cried,  stepping  back.  "Brother  saw 
him !    You  didn't  tell  me  that." 

"I  promised  him  I  would  not  tell  you." 

"Ah,  you  break  your  promises  and  expect  me 
to  keep  mine.  I  will  go  this  moment  and  tell  his 
mother." 

He  caught  her  arm  and  poured  out  a  distressful 
imploration,  a  prayer.  "I  would  rather  you'd  stab 
me,"  he  said,  concluding.  "I  would  rather  you'd 
kill  us  both.  But  I  didn't  swear,  Florence.  You 
have  taken  an  oath."  ^ 


264  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Judge,  that  is  cowardly." 

''Yes,  it  is.  I  am  a  coward — but  only  for  her.  A 
bitter  word,  Florence." 

"Yes,  forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  that.  You  are 
not  a  coward,  but  you  are  blind."  He  held  forth 
his  hands.    She  stepped  back,  shaking  her  head. 

"All  gone,"  said  he,  "all  respect,  all  confidence. 
And  you  were  my  daughter." 

"I  was." 

"In  love  and  in  duty,"  he  said. 

"In  both,"  she  replied.  "In  both,  yes,  and  now 
love  is  gasping  and  duty  has  become  a  hard  master." 
Suddenly  she  sprang  toward  him.  "Brother  saw 
him!  I  am  just  beginning  to  reaHze  what  you 
said.    I  don't  beheve  it.    His  eyes  lied,  too." 

"Oh,  beautiful  faith,  it  would  move  a  mountain." 

"It  would  pluck  a  mote  from  an  eye.  May  I  go 
now  ?" 

"I  am  not  on  the  bench  to  discharge  or  restrain 
you.  But,  just  a  moment.  You  feel  that  I  am  a 
tyrant.  That  could  not  have  been  possible  with 
your  former  self.  What  is  so  cold  as  frozen  gentle- 
ness ?  And  now  it  is  Only  through  the  frost-crusted 
windows  that  I  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  your  other 
spirit." 


TOLD  HIM  GOOD-BYE.  265 

"In  the  hall,  yesterday,"  she  said,  ''I  thought  that 
I  heard  a  lurking  echo  of  your  old  laughter." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  distress.  "Don't  remind 
me  of  it,"  he  said. 

"May  I  go?" 

"Yes.  But  let  me  ask  you  one  more  favor.  Don't 
tell  your  brother  that  I  mentioned  him." 

"Another  chain,"  she  said. 


266  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE   LIGHT   BREAKS. 


The  Judge  turned  and  saw  Bradley  in  the  door. 
His  appearance  at  any  moment  was  not  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  surprise.  Agnes  said  that  she  expected 
him  at  most  unexpected  times.  He  no  doubt  re- 
garded himself  as  a  brave  man,  and  perhaps  he  was  ; 
it  required  courage  to  be  so  timidly  persistent. 

"I  hope  I  don't  intrude,"  said  the  preacher. 

''Oh,  not  at  all.     Come  in." 

''Miss  Agnes  is  out  for  a  walk,  I  understand," 
said  Bradley,  sitting  down. 

The  Judge  stood  looking  at  him  absent-mindedly. 
"Ah,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  I  don't  know  why  I 
suppose  so.  The  truth  is,  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Bradley.  I  am — am 
greatly  disturbed.  The  fact  is,  I  hardly  know  what  I 
am  about.  I  am  a  mystery  unto  myself.  I  was  just 
thinking  of  it  as  you  came  in.  It  does  not  seem  pos- 
sible for  a  man,  with  a  mountain  of  sorrow  upon 
his  heart,  to  turn  squarely  about  and  speculate  upon 


THE  LIGHT  BREAKS.  267 

trivial  things — to  jest,  if  I  may  say  so,  and  I  must 
for  it  is  a  fact.     I  am  glad  you  came." 

"I  am  always  delighted  to  come,  Judge.  Here 
I  find  the  shade  of  a  palm  tree  in  a  great  desert  of 
trade.  And  I  came  in  the  hope  of  finding  you 
better." 

''Better !"  The  Judge  looked  at  him  almost 
sternly.  ''Better,  why  I  am  not  sick.  What  put 
that  into  your  head,  Bradley?" 

"Why,  I  understood  from  what  you  have  said 
that  your  health  was  not  of  the  best." 

"But  it  is  of  the  best,  I  assure  you.  But  I  brood, 
yes,  I  brood,  and  that  is  worse  than  ill  health — it 
is  the  ill  health  of  the  mind,  the  soul." 

"I  am  afraid  you  work  too  hard." 

"Um,  work,  I  hardly  know  what  that  is.  I  am  try- 
ing to  rest,  but  it  is  like  a  man  seeking  sleep  on  a 
bed  of  thorns.  Work  is  all  right,  for  we  can  put 
it  aside,  but  worry  rides  us  till  we  are  down,  and 
then  sits  on  our  breast,  waiting  for  us  to  get  up." 

WiUiam  came  in,  shying  a  little  upon  seeing 
Bradley,  but  shook  hands  with  him.  "I  am  glad 
to  see  you  looking  so  well,  Mr.  William,"  said  the 
preacher. 

"Oh,  I'm  a  pine  knot.     Ain't  I,  John?" 


268  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

The  Judge  looked  at  him  inquiringly.  "What 
did  you  say?" 

"I  said  I  was  a  pine  knot." 

"Did  you?" 

"Did  I?    Didn't  I  just  say  I  did?" 

"If  you  did,  you  did.  That's  all.  But  who  ac- 
cused you  of  not  being  a  pine  knot?" 

Bradley  chuckled,  and  William  frowned  at  him ; 
then,  addressing  himself  to  the  Judge,  the  old  fellow 
said:  "You  did.  You  disputed  it.  You  call  me  a 
liar  every  time  I  open  my  mouth." 

"William,  you  have  often  declared  that  you  are 
not  in  the  plot,  but  the  first  thing  you  know  you 
may  break  into  it." 

"No,  I  won't!"  William  exclaimed,  shaking  his 
finger.  "And  I  won't  break  into  your  intellectual 
atmosphere,  either."  He  turned  to  Bradley. 
"Why,  sir,  John  is  a  regular  professor,  browbeat- 
ing his  class.  He  expects  everybody  to  talk  book. 
I  say,  damn  a  book.  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  is  the 
first  time  I  ever  said  that  in  the  presence  of  a 
preacher." 

Bradley  laughed.  "It's  all  right,  Mr.  William,  if 
you  feel  that  way." 

"Is  it  ?  Then,  I  say,  damn  a  book.  What  I  want 
is  action." 


THE  LIGHT  BREAKS.  269 

"I  subscribe  to  your  doctrine  concerning  much 
of  our  literary  output,"  said  the  preacher. 

WilHam  was  so  deHghted  at  this  that  he  seized 
the  preacher's  hand  and  shook  it  with  more  of  vigor 
than  he  was  wont  to  put  forth.  ''Good  for  you, 
Bradley.  I  am  half  inclined  to  come  to  hear  you 
preach." 

A  twinkle  in  the  Judge's  eye  showed  that  again 
he  was  playing  in  the  midst  of  his  sorrow.  "You'd 
never  get  there,  William.  You  could  never  settle 
on  the  date." 

"Oh,  you  be  confound,  John.  I  have  settled  on 
more  dates  than  you  ever  saw."  He  arose,  went 
to  the  table  and  took  up  a  pair  of  long  shears.  "Let 
me  take  these  to  my  room,  will  you?  I  want  to 
clip  out  something  for  my  scrap-book." 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  damned  a  book.  No,  sir, 
put  those  shears  right  down  where  you  found  them. 
You  took  my  mucilage  off  yesterday  and  I  had  to 
go  after  it — down  wdiere  you  found  them." 

William  put  down  the  shears  and  looked  angrily 
at  the  Judge.    "Oh,  I  can  put  them  down." 

"Thank  you." 

"May  I  have  a  cigar,  John?" 

"Help  yourself." 

"Much  obliged."    He  went  to  the  desk,  took  up 


270  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

a  box  of  cigars  and  walked  out  unnoticed  by  the 
Judge,  who  had  turned  his  back,  following  a  strand 
of  his  sorrow,  intertwined  with  a  strand  of  humor, 
the  two  phases  of  himself  which  he  could  not  com- 
prehend. He  walked  slowly  to  the  wall,  and,  turn- 
ing, remarked,  as  he  walked  toward  the  preacher, 
"Bradley,  I  feel  as  one  waiting  for  something — 
some  shadow." 

"Vm  not  a  shadow,"  Agnes  cried,  skipping  into 
the  room.  Bradley  arose  with  a  bow.  '*No,  for 
shadows  may  be  dark,"  he  replied. 

"Did  you  hear  that,  Mr.  Judge?  Did  you  hear 
him  say  that  shadows  may  be  dark  ?  Of  course,  for 
if  they  were  bright  they  wouldn't  be  shadows.  May 
I  sit  here?"  She  sat  on  a  corner  of  the  long  baize 
table  swinging  her  feet,  as  if  the  music  in  her  soul 
impelled  her  to  dance,  Bradley  mused.  "Why  do 
you  people  stick  in  here  all  the  time?"  she  went 
on.  "Oh,  I  see,"  she  added,  lifting  her  hand  with 
a  piece  of  paper  adhering  to  it.  "You  glue  your- 
selves in  here."  She  plucked  off  the  paper,  took 
out  a  handkerchief,  a  dainty  bit  of  lace,  and  wiped 
her  hand.  "Have  you  just  got  here,  Mr.  Bradley? 
What's  the  news?  Who's  murdered  on  the  West 
Side?  They  have  murdered  somebody  every  day 
since  I  came,  first  one  side  and  then  the  other,  and 


THE  LIGHT  BREAKS.  271 

it's  the  West  Side's  turn  today.     Anybody  killed 
today?" 

"1  don't  know,"  Bradley  replied,  "but  I  hear  that 
a  prominent  citizen  was  sand-bagged  last  night — 
in  front  of  a  church." 

"Oh,  for  pity  sake.  And  had  he  came  out  of  a 
church  fair  ?    Did  the  robber  get  any  money  ?" 

"Bradley,"  said  the  Judge,  "as  William  would 
say,  she  is  putting  it  on  you." 

Bradley  smiled,  and  said  that  it  seemed  so.  Bod- 
ney  stepped  into  the  room,  halted  as  if  confused, 
and  as  Bradley  got  up  to  shake  hands  with  him, 
hurriedly  went  out.  Agnes  spoke  in  an  undertone 
to  the  preacher.  "Mr.  Bodney  is  worried,  too. 
And  it  makes  me  awfully  sorry  to  see  the  Judge  so 
distressed  at  times.  Can't  you  do  something  for 
him?" 

"I  can  simply  advise  him  not  to  worry,  that's  all." 

"Beg  him  not  to  be  so  sad.  1  don't  see  how  he 
can  be.    Everything  is  so  bright." 

The  Judge  went  to  the  desk  to  get  a  cigar.  "That 
rascal  has  taken  every  one  of  my  cigars.  Now,  I've 
got  to  find  him  to  recover  my  property."  He  went 
out,  and  they  heard  him  calling  William. 

"They  have  to  watch  Mr.  William  all  the  time," 
said  Agnes.     "He  carries  ofif  everything  he   can 


272  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

get  his  hands  on.  They  say  his  room  looks  Hke 
a  junk  shop." 

Bradley  nodded  in  acknowledgment,  and  after 
a  short  silence,  full  of  meditation,  he  said:  "You 
seem  still  to  enjoy  your  visit.  And  I  hope  you  are 
not  thinking  of  going  home." 

"Ah,  ha,  I  am  having  a  lovely  time.  Isn't  it  a 
nice  place  to  visit.  They  make  you  feel  so  much 
at  home,  snap  at  each  other  if  they  want  to,  just  as 
if  you  weren't  here.  That's  the  way  for  people  to 
do;  make  you  feel  at  home.  But  they  are  just 
as  good  as  they  can  be,  and  their  little  spats  are 
so  full  of  fun  to  me,  only  it  makes  me  sad  to  see 
the  Judge  worry.  Yes,  I  am  having  a  lovely  time. 
I  went  to  the  vaudeville  yesterday,  and  tomorrow 
I  am  going  to  your  church." 

"Oh,  you  are  ?"   Bradley  laughed. 

"Ah,  ha.  Oh,  do  you  know  what  I  heard  about 
you?  I  heard  you  were  seen  walking  along  the 
street  with  a  drunken  man." 

"Yes,  a  friend  of  mine.  And  if  a  preacher 
shouldn't  support  a  staggering  brother,  who 
should?" 

"Oh,  how  human.    I  Hke  you  for  that?" 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 


THE  LIGHT  BREAKS.  273 

"And  for  that  alone  ?" 

'*0h,  no,  I  like  you  for  that  and  for  a  good  many 
other  things.  I  think  I  could  have  lots  of  fun  with 
you." 

"Fun  with  me?"  The  preacher  was  thinking  of  a 
summer  evening  in  Aldine  Square,  the  music  of 
the  fountain,  the  sweetness  of  the  flowers. 

"Ah,  ha.  There's  something  about  you  that 
makes  me  feel  like  a  little  girl.  And  I  dreamed  that 
you  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  along." 

"Agnes,  let  me  lead  you," 

She  slid  off  the  corner  of  the  table  and  stood  with 
her  hands  flat  together,  like  a  delighted  child,  but 
suddenly  she  looked  up  with  seriousness  in  her  eyes. 
"But  now  you  make  me  feel  like  a  woman." 

The  Judge  came  in.  Bradley  spoke  almost  in 
a  whisper.  "But  a  woman  might  be  led  by  a  man." 
And  then  to  the  Judge  he  remarked,  striving  to 
hide  his  annoyance  at  the  interruption :  "I  see  you 
have  recovered  your  property." 

The  Judge  sat  down  on  a  chair  near  the  table. 
"Yes,  some  of  it.  William  is  a  good  grabber,  but 
he  gives  up  after  an  argument,  and  there  is  some 
virtue  in  that." 

"What  was  in  the  paper  that  worried  Mr.  Bod- 
ney  so  ?"  Agnes  asked,  speaking  to  the  Judge. 

18 


274  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

*'I  don't  know.    Has  anything  worried  him?" 

''Yes,  I  saw  him  grabbing  the  paper  as  if  he 
would  tear  it  to  pieces." 

"Ball  game,  probably,"  said  the  Judge,  and  then 
looking  at  Agnes  he  added:  "Nothing  seems  to 
bother  you,  little  one." 

"No,  sir.  I  won't  let  it.  When  I  am  worried 
something  jumps  this  way,"  she  said,  making  an 
upward  motion  with  her  hands,  indicating  the  sud- 
den rise  of  spirits,  "and  the  bother  is  gone." 

The  Judge  spoke  to  Bradley.  "The  heart  of 
youth  jumps  up  and  says  boo  to  a  trouble  and 
frightens  it  away." 

"Ah;"  replied  Bradley,  "and  couldn't  an  older 
heart  learn  to  boo  a  trouble  away?" 

The  Judge  shook  his  head.  "The  old  heart 
crouches,  but  cannot  jump." 

"Make  it  jump,"  Agnes  cried.  "Let  me  hear  you 
laugh  as  you  used  to." 

"The  saints  laugh  with  an  old  man,"  said  Brad- 
ley. 

"Don't,"  the  Judge  interposed,  with  a  slow  ges- 
ture. "Your  roses  are  pretty,  but  you  bring  them 
to  a  funeral.  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  mean  that 
I  am  simply  worried  over  a  little  matter,  but  I  am 
getting  better  and  will  be  all  right  pretty  soon.     I 


THE  LIGHT  BREAKS.  273 

shall  be  my  old  self  in  a  very  short  time."  Bodney 
entered,  and  stood  looking  fixedly  at  the  Judge. 
"What  is  it,  George?" 

Bodney  nodded  to  Bradley  and  Agnes.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  I  must  see  the  Judge  alone." 

Bradley  asked  Agnes  if  she  would  accept  of  ban- 
ishment with  him.    ''Yes,"  she  said.    ''Come  on." 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  the  Judge  spoke  up.    "We 

}f 
can — 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Bodney  broke  in,  "but  it 
is  necessary." 

"Of  co-urse  it  is,"  Agnes  declared.  "As  Mr.  Wil- 
Uam  would  say,  we  are  not  in  the  plot." 

"Xo,"  said  Bodney,  bowing  to  her. 

As  they  were  going  out,  the  Judge  called  to  the 
preacher.  "Don't  go  away  without  seeing  me 
again,  Bradley.    I  want  you  to  spend  the  day  with 

me." 

Bodney  leaned  against  the  table,  stepped  off, 
came  back,  and  stood  looking  down  upon  the 
Judge.     The  old  man  glanced  up.     "Well?" 

It  was  some  time  before  Bodney  could  speak.  His 
words  seemed  dry  in  his  mouth.  At  last  he  began : 
"I  carried  half  of  a  heavy  load.  Something  has 
thrown  the  other  half  on  me,  and  I  can't  stand 
up  under  it— dispatch— railroad  wreck—" 


276  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

The  Judge  jumped  out  of  his  chair.    "What !" 

Bodney  continued.    "Yes.    Goyle  is  dead." 

"Oh,  Goyle.    I  was  afraid — where  ?" 

"In  Michigan,  at  fifteen  minutes  to  eleven,  yes- 
terday.   I  have  cause  to  note  the  time.    The  load — " 

"Well,  go  ahead.  But  let  me  tell  you  now, 
George,  you  have  no  cause  to  regret  the  broken 
association.  I  deplore  the  man's  death,  of  course, 
but  I  begun  to  feel  that  his  influence  upon  you 
was  bad.  I  had  begun  to  dream  about  him,  and 
to  fear  that  he  had  a  strange  influence  upon  me. 
But  go  ahead." 

"Half  of  it  was  crushing  me,  and  I  can't  stand  it 
all.    I—" 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?  What  are  you  trying 
to  tell.    Go  ahead." 

"Judge,  Goyle  robbed  the  safe — Goyle  and  I — 
wait — I  gave  him  the  combination — he  made  up  for 
Howard— I—" 

The  Judge  seized  the  shears  and  raised  them  high 
above  his  head,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Bodney's  breast. 
Bodney  did  not  flinch.  The  old  man  raised  his  eyes, 
to  meet  a  steady  gaze;  and  he  stood  with  the 
shears  high  in  his  hand.  He  had  uttered  no  outcry, 
no  sound  came  from  him,  no  sound  that  could 
have  been   heard   beyond   the   door — only   a   low 


The  Judge  seized  the  shears  and  raised  them  high  above  his  head. 


THE  LIGHT  BREAKS.  277 

groan,  like  the  moan  of  a  fever-stricken  man,  turn- 
ing over  in  his  sleep. 

"Kill  me,  Judge,  I  deserve  it." 

The  shears  fell  from  the  old  man's  hand,  and  he 
dropped  upon  the  chair,  his  arms  upon  the  table 
and  his  face  upon  them. 

"I  wish  you  had  struck  me." 

With  a  slight  motion  of  the  hand  the  Judge  waved 
him  ofif.  Bodney  continued :  "For  your  heart 
there  is  a  cure.  There  is  none  for  mine.  I  was  a 
fool,  I  was  caught,  I  gambled,  I  couldn't  quit,  that 
snake  held  me,  charmed  me,  hypnotized  me.  I 
knocked  him  down  and  he  bled  black  on  the  floor, 
and  I  left  him  lying  there,  but  I  could  not  break 
loose  from  him." 

The  Judge  waved  him  off.  "Don't  tempt  me  to 
look  upon  your  face  again." 

Bodney  did  not  move.  "The  old  laugh  that 
they  have  spoken  so  much  about  may  return ;  old 
confidences  and  an  old  love  will  be  restored,  but 
there  must  be  a  wanderer  that  can  never  come  back, 
a  fool  whom  nature  made  weak.  But  I  feel  that  if 
you  would  give  me  your  hand — I  am  not  deserving 
of  it — but  I  feel  that  if  I  could  once  more  touch 
that  honorable  hand,  I  could  go  forth  an  honest 
man.     I  would  try." 

The  Judge  slowly  raised  his  head.  Tears  were 
in  his  eyes.  He  held  forth  his  hand.  Bodney 
grasped  it,  and — was  gone. 


278  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


SENT  A  MESSAGE. 


William  went  to  the  office  door  and  found  it 
locked.  This  was  so  singular  a  happening  that  the 
old  fellow  stalked  about  the  house,  marveling  over 
it  and  complaining  against  an  innovation  that  shut 
a  man  out  of  an  apartment  that  had  served  so  long 
as  a  sort  of  public  domain.  It  was  like  the  closing 
of  a  park  or  a  county  road.  Everyone  laughed 
at  him  and  he  snorted.  In  the  vocabulary  ot  Wil- 
liam's contempt,  the  snort  was  the  strongest  ex- 
pression. *Tt  is  all  right  to  laugh,"  said  he,  "but 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  there  has  got  to  be  a  change 
here."  He  returned  to  the  office  door  and  knocked 
upon  it,  but  his  knuckles  aroused  no  heed  within. 
He  could  hear  the  Judge  walking  up  and  down. 
Bodney  had  been  gone  nearly  half  an  hour.  But 
the  Judge  had  not  noted  the  time.  To  him,  life 
was  but  a  conflicting,  mental  eternity,  and  he  was 
in  the  whirling  midst  of  it.  For  a  long  time  he  sat 
with  his  head  on  the  table,  one  arm  stretched  out 


SENT  A  MESSAGE  279 

before  him,  the  other  hanging  limp ;  then  he  stag- 
gered about  the  room,  and  then  sat  down  with  his 
head  in  his  hands.  To  the  eye  turned  inward  all 
was  black,  till  gradually  a  light  appeared,  seeming 
softly  to  shine  upon  a  hideous  shape,  crouching 
in  a  dark  corner.  He  gazed  upon  it,  and  it  spoke, 
shrinking  further  back  from  the  soft  light.  "I  am 
your  injustice,"  it  said.  He  got  up,  raised  a  win- 
dow, and  stood  looking  out  upon  the  sunlight  in 
the  street.  But  he  shivered  as  if  with  cold,  and 
his  lips  moved  as  if  he  were  talking  and  swallowing 
his  words  down  into  deep  silence.  A  gladness  be- 
gan to  form  in  his  heart.  His  son  was  innocent, 
but  in  that  innocence  there  was  a  reproach.  He 
had  been  unnatural  as  a  father,  and  might  he  not 
many  a  time  have  been  unjust  as  a  judge?  He 
acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  must  have  decided 
in  favor  of  error  while  on  the  bench.  His  retire- 
ment was  a  sort  of  unconscious  justice.  He  real- 
ized that  his  mind  had  not  been  sound.  He  had 
felt  a  coming  weakness.  But  now  he  felt  a  com- 
ing strength.  The  trial  through  which  he  had 
passed  must  have  served  as  a  test.  It  was  to  restore 
or  ruin  his  mental  life.  But  why  should  there  have 
been  such  a  test,  and  why  should  the  innocent  have 
suffered?    It  would  not  do  to  reason,  and  he  ban- 


280  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

ished  the  test  idea,  fighting  it  off.  Still,  he  ac- 
knowledged that  his  mind  had  sickened  and  that 
now  it  was  gaining  strength.  He  remembered  his 
frivolity  and  loathed  it,  his  jokes  with  William  at 
a  time  when  his  heart  was  heavy  and  swollen. 
''Unnatural  as  a  father  and  inconsistent  as  a  man," 
he  muttered.  "But  who  is  to  judge  of  man's  nat- 
uralness? One  kink  in  the  mind  and  the  entire 
world  is  changed."  William  knocked  again,  and 
now  the  Judge  opened  the  door.  The  old  fellow 
looked  at  his  brother  and  exclaimed : 

"Why,  what  has  happened,  John  ?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  I  have  been  really  ill.  But 
I  am  almost  recovered.  My  mind  has  passed 
through  a  sort  of  crisis,  William.  I  can  now  look 
back  and  see  that  I  was  not  right.  My  present 
strength  tells  me  of  my  former  weakness.  I  am 
soon  to  be  entirely  well." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  It  is  particularly 
gratifying  to  me.  And  I  suppose  that  you  are,  or, 
at  least,  soon  will  be,  willing  to  concede  that  I  am 
sometimes  correct  with  regards  to  my  dates." 

"Yes,  but  we  won't  mention  that.  It  is  of  no 
importance." 

"What!  No  importance?  Take  care,  John, 
you'll  get  back  where  you  were,  for  when  a  man 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  281 

says  that  a  date  is  of  no  importance,  he's  in  danger." 
"WilHam,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  am 
almost  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  go  out  just  now. 
Wait  a  moment."  He  went  to  his  desk,  found  a 
telegraph  blank,  and  upon  it  wrote  the  following 
message:  'The  light  has  broken.  Come  back  at 
once."  William  read  the  words  and  looked  at  him. 
''Go  to  the  station,"  said  the  Judge,  "and  send  this 
to  Howard,  in  care  of  the  conductor.  It  is  not  a 
secret,  m.ind  you,  but  don't  stay  to  show  it.  They 
would  delay  you  with  puzzling  over  it." 

"All  right,  I'll  jump  into  a  cab  and  go  right  over. 
I  know  the  station.     It's  only  a  few  blocks  from 
here.    He  didn't  go  all  the  way  down  town.    I  heard 
him  tell  his  mother.    By  the  way,"  William  added, 
"I  found  one  of  Howard's  French  books — " 
"Put  it  back  where  you  found  it." 
"What,  you  haven't  flopped,  have  you?" 
"I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 
"Why,  you  said  that  French  literature  was  the — " 
"It  is  the  civilizing  force  of  the  modern  world. 
Go  on,  please.    Just  a  moment.    Tell  Florence  that 
I  wish  to  see  her." 

When  Florence  came  in  her  face  was  radiant. 
William  had  spread  the  news  of  Howard's  recall. 
"Ah,"  said  the  Judge,  "you  know  that  I  have  sent 
for  him." 


282  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Yes,  father,"  she  repHed,  going  up  to  him  with 
outstretched  hands.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her.     "What  has  happened?"  she  asked. 

"The  atmosphere  is  cleared,  my  dear." 

"But,  what  cleared  it?" 

"The  truth.    You  were  right.    I  saw  a  vision." 

She  looked  at  him.  "But  what  was  it  that 
brother  saw?" 

"Ah,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head,  "you 
are  shrewd.  You  are  not  willing  to  let  it  pass. 
Florence,  we  both  saw  Goyle  disguised  with  his 
devilish  art  as  Howard." 

She  gazed  at  him.     "Is  that  all?" 

"All?  Is  not  that  enough  for  us  to  know,  my 
child?" 

"But,  why  did  brother  happen  to  lead  you  into 
the  office  just  at  that  time?" 

"There,  I  have  told  enough,  and  what  I  have 
told  you  must  not  repeat.  If  there  is  anything  to 
come,  Howard  may  tell  you,  but  my  wife  must 
never  know  that  I  have  been  so  weak  and  unnat- 
ural a  father." 

"But  she  can  see  that  something  must  have  oc- 
curred to  change  your  bearing  toward  Howard. 
Mr.  William  has  told  her  that  you  have  sent  for 
him,  and  she  is  in  her  room  with  tears  of  joy  in 
her  eyes." 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  283 

"Florence,  I  am  striving  to  be  calm,  the  master 
of  myself.  I  don't  deserve  to  be  happy — not  yet. 
How  could  I  have  been  so  blind  ?  And  how  at  times 
could  I  have  indulged  in  levity  with  such  a  sorrow 
upon  my  heart  ?" 

"It  was  the  truth,  father,  striving  to  break 
through." 

He  nodded  his  head.  "Yes,  and  now  we  must 
tell  her  something.  Ah,  tell  her  that  a  man  came 
and  brought  me  word  that  my  br.other  is  not  dead. 
Keep  her  from  coming  to  me  with  any  sort  of 
demonstration.  I  can't  stand  it.  I  must  recall  my 
old  self  and  become  gradually  accustomed  to  it. 
I  must  realize  that  it  was  all  a  dream  and  that  it 
is  passing  away.  Tomorrow,  with  Howard,  we 
may  make  a  joke  of  it." 

"It  will  never  be  a  joke  with  me." 

"No,  my  child,  I  did  not  mean  that.  It  was  a 
nightmare — a  breath-shape  breathed  upon  us  by 
the  devil  while  we  slept.  But  we  are  awake  now, 
and  God's  sun  shines.  Go  to  her  and  tell  her  that 
my  brother  is  not  dead." 

"I  will.  But,  father,  do  you  realize  how  resource- 
ful you  have  made  me — how  replete  with  false- 
hood ?  And  must  I  not  go  into  the  closet  and  pray 
for  forgiveness?" 


284  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"It  was  done  for  love,  my  dear ;  and  love,  which 
is  the  soul  of  all  up  yonder,  has  forgiven  already." 

Florence  and  Mrs.  Elbridge  entered  the  drawing 
room.  "Who  brought  that  news  that  his  brother 
was  not  dead  ?"  Mrs.  Elbridge  asked. 

"A  man.  He  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  catch  a 
train  and  could  not  stop  long.  He  brought  direct 
v/ord  from  Mr.  Henry  himself." 

"Then  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it." 

"No.    And  I  did  not  believe  it  in  the  first  place." 

"Who  is  in  there  with  him  ?" 

"I  think  Agnes  and  the  preacher  have  just  gone 
in." 

"This  is  a  happy  day,"  said  Mrs.  Elbridge,  look- 
ing toward  the  door. 

"A  day  when  falsehood  may  be  told,  but  when 
truth  is  revealed,"  Florence  replied.  "It  is  one  of 
God's  days." 

"All  days  are  His,  my  dear." 

Florence  slowly  shook  her  head.    "No,  not  all." 

The  Judge  came  in.  He  put  his  arms  about  Mrs. 
Elbridge.  "Rachel,"  he  said,  "you  shall  never  see 
my  face  gloomy  again.  I  will  go  laughing  down 
into  green  old  age,  into  the  very  moss  of  time."  He 
motioned  toward  the  office.  "In  there  is  a  beauti- 
ful picture  of  sweet  distress." 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  285 

Mrs.  Elbridge  looked  upon  him  with  a  trembhng 
lip.  "But,  my  dear,  it  is  not  more  beautiful  than 
the  fact  that  you  sent  for  your  son  and  that  you 
yourself  have  come  back  to  us  all." 

The  Judge  smiled.  Florence  could  see  that  he 
was  growing  stronger,  that  his  mind  was  clearing. 
"He  returns  like  a  lost  child  suddenly  finding  the 
path  home,"  she  said. 

"Faith  has  its  wisdom  and  its  reward,"  replied 
the  Judge,  looking  at  her.  "In  the  days  of  the  New 
Testament,  you  would  have  been  one  of  the  fol- 
lowers. You  would  have  wiped  His  feet  with  your 
hair."  And,  looking  at  his  watch,  he  added:  "I 
wonder  why  William  doesn't  come  back." 

"It  is  not  time,"  Mrs.  Elbridge  replied,  glancing 
at  the  clock. 

"The  minutes  are  hours,  but  clearing  and 
strengthening  hours,"  said  the  Judge.  He  turned 
about  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room, 
with  all  the  simpleness  of  his  nature  in  his  face.  He 
did  not  look  like  a  man  who  had  sat  in  judgment 
upon  the  actions  of  men.  His  heart  had  cried  for 
pardon,  and  a  belief  that  it  had  come  lighted  his 
countenance.  A  man  who  has  been  shrewd  in  the 
affairs  of  the  world,  sharp  in  practice,  suspicious, 
sometimes  becomes  simple  and  trustful  in  the  love 


286  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

of  a  grandchild.  And  at  this  time,  the  Judge  might 
have  reminded  one  of  such  a  man. 

Mrs.  Elbridge  stood  in  the  door  looking  down 
the  hall.  The  Judge  halted  to  speak  to  Florence. 
''Forgiveness,"  said  he,  *'is  the  essense  of  all  that 
is  noble  in  life.     And  do  you  forgive  me?" 

''Yes,"  she  said.  "And  I  hope  that  I  shall  be 
forgiven  all  the  falsehoods  I  have  been  forced  to 
tell." 

"They  were  for  her,  Florence,  and  there  is  a  vir- 
tue in  an  untruth  that  shields  a  heart."  He  moved 
closer  to  her  and  added :  "I  wonder  at  your 
strength  and  marvel  at  my  weakness." 

"You  were  groping  in  the  dark.  It  was  not  your 
fault,  but  your  nature." 

"And  you  are  my  daughter  again." 

"Yes,"  said  Florence,  "in  love  and  in  duty." 

Mrs.  Elbridge  went  out.  The  Judge  and  Flor- 
ence sat  down  to  wait  for  William.  He  was  a  sort 
of  way-station  which  must  be  reached  before  they 
could  arrive  at  Howard.  The  Judge  told  her  of 
the  darkness  through  which  he  had  passed,  throw- 
ing new  light  upon  it,  as  if  she  had  not  seen  it,  as 
she  stood  by,  holding  a  torch.  He  spoke  of  Goyle, 
of  his  strange  power ;  he  told  her  of  the  newspaper 
cutting  that  gave  account  of  his  mind-reading,  and 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  287 

finally  he  told  her  of  Bodney's  confession.  She 
was  prepared,  and  showed  no  agitation.  But  there 
was  sfrief  on  her  face.  Then  he  told  her  that  he 
could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  condemn  him.  'Tn 
your  own  words,  Florence,  it  was  not  his  fault,  but 
his  nature.  I  will  take  him  back,  and  not  even 
Howard  must  know  of  his  part  in — in  my  dark- 
ness." 

"Howard  ought  to  know  everything,"  she  said. 

"But  not  now,  my  dear ;  by  degrees,  as  he  shall 
be  able  to  bear  it.  He  is  generous,  and  I  believe 
he  will  forgive." 

Mrs.  Elbridge  returned  and  stood  in  the  door. 
"Here  comes  William,"  she  said.  The  Judge  arose. 
William  came  in  puffing.  "We  were  looking  for 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Elbridge. 

"Well,  now,"  replied  the  old  fellow,  "you  don't 
have  to  look  long  for  me,  I'll  tell  you  that.  I  made 
the  driver  whip  his  horses  all  the  way  there  and 
back." 

"And  are  you  sure  that  your  message  caught 
the  train?"  said  the  Judge. 

"Oh,  I  always  fetch  'em  whenever  I  go  after  'em." 

"Are  you  sure  you  sent  it  all  right?"  the  Judge 
asked. 

"John,  I  thought  you'd  get  well.     But,  sir,  you 


288  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

exhibit  the  most  alarming  sign  of  sickness  I  have 
ever  seen  in  you.  Sure  I  sent  it  all  right!  What 
other  way  do  I  ever  do  a  thing?  Of  course  I  sent 
it  all  right.  The  train  wasn't  far  out,  and  there's 
one  back  every  few  minutes." 

*'It  seems  that  he  has  been  gone  a  year  instead 
of  two  hours,"  said  the  Judge. 

Florence  smiled  at  him.  "And  are  we  to  be 
married  in  secret  ?"  she  asked,  speaking  low. 

"My  dear,  that  shall  be  as  you  please.  I  have 
only  one  wish — that  it  shall  be  one  of  the  happiest 
days  of  my  life,  and  I  believe  that  it  will  be." 

"What  day  of  the  month  is  this  ?"  William  asked. 

"The  fifth,"  the  Judge  answered. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"I  am  sure  it  is  not  the  tenth  of  June,  sixty- 
three,"  said  the  Judge,  and  was  in  deep  regret  at  his 
levity  at  such  a  time,  when  his  wife  spoke  up, 
"Judge,  please  don't  get  him  started." 

"Started !"  William  snorted.  "Now— now,  that's 
good.  A  man  races  all  the  way  to  the  station  and 
back,  and  they  talk  about  getting  him  started." 
Suddenly  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
stood  staring  at  the  wall.  "Well,  if  that  don't  beat 
anything  I  ever  saw." 

"What  is  the  trouble  ?"  the  Judge  asked. 


\ 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  289 

'*Why,  I  dated  that  telegram  the  fourth." 

"You  did!"  Mrs.  Elbridge  cried.  The  Judge 
looked  hard  at  his  brother.  "It  won't  make  any 
difference."  said  Florence.  "He  will  know  that  it 
was  a  mistake.*' 

"He  will  undoubtedly  know  who  sent  it."  the 
Judge  added. 

'T  wonder  why  ^Ir.  Bradley  and  Agnes  stay  in 
that  dingy  place,"  said  Mrs.  Elbridge,  always  anx- 
ious to  change  the  talk  from  William's  dates. 

"The  place  may  be  dingy/'  repHed  the  Judge, 
"but  there  are  no  cobwebs  hanging  from  the  rafters 
in  the  abode  of  love." 

"Judge !"  she  said,  giving  him  a  smiling  frown. 

"To  some  eyes,"  remarked  Florence,  half  musing- 
ly, "there  may  be  cobwebs  hanging  from  the  rafters 
in  love's  abode,  but  to  love  they  are  strands  of 
gold." 

"Let  us  go  out  and  watch  for  his  coming,"  said 
Mrs.  Elbridge,  taking  Florence  by  the  arm.  They 
went  out.  leaving  William  staring  at  the  Judge. 

"By  the  way,  what's  this  I  happened  to  hear 
about  brother  Henry  being  dead?  I  didn't  know 
he  was  dead  till  he  wasn't." 

"You  didn't?" 

'T  mean  I  heard  the  news  of  his  death  and  the 

19 


290  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

contradiction  about  the  same  time.  Why  did  you 
keep  it  from  me?'' 

"Oh,  I  knew  there  wasn't  any  truth  in  the  report, 
and  there  wasn't  anything  to  be  gained  by  teUing 
you." 

"Anything  to  be  gained.  Do  you  only  tell  a 
man  a  thing  when  there  is  something  to  be  gained 
by  it?" 

The  Judge  looked  at  the  clock  and  then  at  his 
watch.  "He  ought  to  be  here  pretty  soon.  I  want 
everybody  to  keep  away  from  me.  I  want  to  see 
him  first  alone — in  here." 

"But  what's  all  this  mystery  about?  I'll  be 
hanged  if  you  haven't  put  my  light  under  a  bushel." 

"No,  William,  it  is  my  light  that  has  been  under 
a  bushel." 

"Everything  may  be  all  right,  John,  but  I  don't 
understand  it.  There  was  something  I  wanted  to 
say.  Yes.  In  case  I  forget  it,  tell  him  the  date  was 
a  mistake." 

"You  won't  forget  it,  William.  You  never  forget 
a  mistaken  date." 

"There  you  go  again.  Can't  a  man  make  a  re- 
quest?" 

"I  believe  a  man  can,  William." 

"You  don't  believe  anything  of  the  sort,  and  you 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  291 

know  it.    But  I  won't  be  left  in  the  dark.    I  refuse 
to  stumble  in  ignorance."     He  started  toward  the 

door. 

''What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  am  going  to  get  the  morning  paper  and  settle 

that  date." 

'•All  right,"  said  the  Judge,  as  WiUiam  went  out. 
"And  tell  them  out  there  that  I  must  see  him  here 
alone.  Don't  forget  that."  He  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  and  then  stood  at  the  door.  "Do  you  see 
anything  of  him  yet?"  he  called  to  his  wife. 

"Not  vet.  It  isn't  time.  But  here's  a  cab.  It's 
going  to  stop— no,  it's  gone  on." 

"Let  me  get  there,"  said  the  Judge,  as  if  the  oth- 
ers were  responsible  for  the  fact  that  the  cab  had 
not  halted  and  put  Howard  down  at  the  door.  A 
moment  after  he  went  out  Bradley  and  Agnes  en- 
tered the  room.  "They  are  gone  to  watch  for  him. 
Shall  we  go,  too?"  the  girl  asked,  looking  at  him 
with  a  mischievous  quiz  in  her  eyes. 

"No,  let  us  stop  here  a  moment.  Strange,  isn't 
it,  his  going  away  and  coming  back  so  soon  r 

'  Thev  sat  on  a  sofa,  looking  at  each  other  as  if 
new  interests  were  constantly  springing  up. 

"We  have  talked  all  over  the  house,"  she  said. 
"I  feel  as  if  I  have  been  on  an  excursion.  Yes,  it  is 
strange.    Don't  you  think  they  have  quarreled?" 


292  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Perhaps — but    it  will    bring    them    closer    to- 
gether." 

'*Yes."  she  said,  "but  I  wouldn't  like  to  quarrel 
just  to  be  brought  closer  together.     I  wonder  why 
Mr.  Bodney  went  away,  too." 
'*And  you  ask?" 

"Yes,  didn't  you  hear  me?    1  heard  him  mutter- 
ing as  he  went  out.    And  I  understood  him  to  say 
that  he  wasn't  coming  back  any  more." 
'*I  thought  you  knew  why  he  went." 
"Thought  I  did?     How  was  I  to  know?" 
"1  could  not  help  but  think — " 
"What  did  you  think?"  she  broke  in. 
"That  he  had  asked  you  to  be  his  wife  and — " 
"Oh,  he  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 
"And  if  he  should?" 
"I'd  tell  him  no,  of  course." 
"You  may  have  to  say  yes  sometime.  Agnes." 
She  looked  down.    "I  won't  have  to — but  I  may.'' 
"Agnes,  do  you  know  what  love  is?'' 
"What  a  question.    Of  course  I  do." 
"What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  er — er — don't  you  know  w^hat  it  is?" 
"Yes,  Agnes,  it  is  a  glorious  defeat  of  the  heart." 
"Oh,  I  don't  think  so.     It's  more  a  victory  than 
a  defeat." 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  293 

"Xo.  the  heart  surrenders.''  They  heard  the 
Judge  exclaim,  "Xo.  it  is  not  going  to  stop/'" 

"Agnes,  did  your  heart  ever  surrender?" 

''You  must  not  ask  me  that."" 

*'\Vhy  not  ?  Did  your  heart  ever  fight  till  it  was 
so  tired  that  it  had  to  give  up — surrender?"' 

"You  niustn"t  ask  me  that.  You'll  make  me  cry.'" 
She  hid  her  eyes. 

"In  sorrow.  Agnes?" 

"Xo — no,  in  happiness." 

He  put  his  arms  about  her,  kissed  her,  pouring 
fortli  his  dream  of  the  fountain  and  the  evening  in 
summer.  The  Judge  startled  them.  "Don't  let  me 
disturb  your  tableau,"'  he  said,  laughing,  "but  I 
must  see  n>y  son  in  here  alone,  not  in  the  office 
where — where  the  safe  is." 

"Come,""  said  Bradley,  taking  Agnes  by  the  hand, 
"Let  us  watch  with  them." 

As  they  arose  the  Judge  looked  at  Agnes.  "Ah, 
I  see  happiness  in  your  face,  little  one.  Keep  it 
there,  Bradley,  for  it  is  God-given.""  He  took  the 
preacher"s  hand.  "God  bless  you,  Bradley.  You 
are  a  good  fellow.'" 

"Don't  call  him  fellow.  Mr.  Judge,'"  said  the  girl, 
pretending  to  pout. 

"Yes,  fellow,"  Bradley  replied.  "It  is  closer  to 
the  weakness  of  man." 


294  JUDGE  ELBRIDGE. 

"Closer  to  his  heart,  Bradley,"  said  the  Judge. 

"Yes,"  said  Bradley,  and  then  he  spoke  to  Agnes. 
"Come  with  me." 

"Anywhere  with  you,"  she  replied,  taking  his  arm 
and  looking  up  into  his  face.  They  passed  out,  and 
the  Judge  stood,  waiting.  William  appeared  at 
the  door.    "It's  all  right  now,  John." 

"What's  all  right?" 

"That  date — the  one  that  caused  so  much  trouble 
one  night.    It  was  on  the  tenth." 

"Is  it  finally  settled?"  the  Judge  asked,  listening. 

"Yes,  sir,  finally,  and  nothing  can  throw  me  off. 
Here  comes  Howard."  The  Judge  motioned,  and 
William  withdrew.  Howard's  footsteps  were 
heard.  The  old  man  stood  with  his  face  turned 
from  the  door,  striving  to  master  himself.  He  felt 
that  surely  he  should  break  down.  Howard  stepped 
into  the  room.  "Father,"  he  said.  The  Judge 
turned,  and,  perfectly  calm,  held  forih  his  hand. 
Howard  grasped  it.  "My  son,  let  us  be  masters  of 
ourselves.  Let  us  be  strong,  for  you  will  have  need 
of  strength.    I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"No,"  Howard  repHed.  "You  have  nothing  to 
tell.  George  met  me  at  the  station  and  told  me.  I 
have  forgiven  him.  I  know  how  he  has  suffered.  I 
have  seen  his  struggles.    He  must  not  be  sent  away. 


SENT  A  MESSAGE.  295 

I   have  brought  him  back  with  me.     He  is  out 

there." 

"Howard."  said  the  old  man,  "you  are  a  noble 

fellow." 

Howard  stepped  to  the  door  and  called  Bodney. 
When  he  entered  the  Judge  said:  "George,  I  am 
going  to  rent  an  office  in  a  modern  building.  That 
old  place  is  worn  out.  We  are  going  to  start  new. 
Ah,  come  in,  Florence." 

•'T  have  simply  come  to  tell  you  that  dinner  is 
ready,"  she  said,  vx-ith  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Judge.  "Come,  boys."  Flor- 
ence led  the  way.  looking  back,  smiling,  and  the 
old  man  went  out  between  Bodney  and  Howard, 
with  his  hands  resting  on  their  shoulders.  In  the 
hall  stood  Agnes,  the  preacher  and  William.  The 
preacher  was  speaking.  "If  there  were  but  one 
word  to  express  aU  the  qualities  of  God,  I  should 
select  the  word  forgiveness,"  he  said. 

THE  END. 


{JA  ^ 


Judge  Elbridge^ 

Oud 

M 1731 en 


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